


Apoc/RE:phantasm

by PuonPuon



Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Explicit Sexual Content, Magic, Multi, Servants, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-03-16 09:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 106,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13633548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuonPuon/pseuds/PuonPuon
Summary: A story about a young magus who falls into a war she did not ask for, coming face to face with the best and worst of humanity, and treading a dangerous line. What if the Red Masters in Fate/Apocrypha were not merely afterthoughts? What if Sieg did not receive Siegfried's heart? This is a tale of war and sex, love and hate, innocence and loss of it.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real life or real individuals is purely coincidence.

It’s broken.

            Is it not sad, Adolpha?

            That voice, those words repeated in her head. Her mother, who wore a face with tired wrinkles under her eyes and a sad smile, was speaking to her.

            They were kneeling above a child-type homunculus designed with a small body to reduce its necessary intake of nutrients. White hair, red eyes, thin and frail. It was a “processor,” one of the dozens that calculated and planned out the vast enterprise in the castle. It belonged in its quarters, where it led a simple life waited on hand and foot by servants.

            But instead, it was lying in the dirt of a trail in the vast forests surrounding the castle. It stared up at the cloudy sky, motionless, unblinking. The only proof that it yet lived was the occasional breath that passed through its lips.

            “What is it doing out here?” Adolpha asked.

            “It’s broken. We should inform the terminal and begin recovery.”

            “Why did it leave the castle?”

            “That is not for us to ask. Our job is merely to bring it back,” her mother said, gently stroking Adolpha’s curly auburn hair.

            “Why isn’t it moving?”

            “It’s broken. It is very sad, but there is nothing we can do for it.”

            “Did it wander outside and get lost?”

            “Most likely, yes.”

            “Was it trying to leave?”

            “Perhaps.”

            “Is its duty not to serve? Was it programmed incorrectly?”

            Her mother stared down at her with an expression that she could not understand. “It has a very important duty, and it was made to do nothing but that task. But that does not mean it is a doll, Adolpha. While it may lack our liberty, it, and all of its kin, still has feelings. It still has a soul. Never forget that. ”

            Adolpha reached down and touched the stoic processor’s cheek, feeling his cold skin. “Does this happen to all homunculi?”

            “Not all. Some simply pass on. No different from any living thing.”

            “Will I become like this, some day?”

            “Perhaps. If the world ever becomes too much to bear, that may not be such a bad thing,” her mother said kindly, ruffling her hair. “Just lay down and stare at the clouds. Yes, that should soothe all ails.”

            Her mother pulled a homemade handkerchief from the pocket of her dress, wet it with her tongue, and began gently scrubbing the dirt off the homunculus’s pale face.

 

 

            Adolpha snapped out of her idle reminiscing when she saw the cargo truck coming up the road. Stepping out from under the awning of her family’s cottage, she waved it down, watching it come to a slow stop as its brakes squealed and its engine coughed up brown smoke. The driver rolled down the window, resting his elbow on the rim and pulling the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to speak.

            “It’s me again. Got the cargo in the back. You wanna check it?” he asked, pulling the brim of his cap down a little as he spoke.

            She glanced at the bed of the truck, covered by a thick tarp and ropes, and clenched her fingers subconsciously as the focus of a magus came over her face. She walked up and touched the metal of the truck, closing her eyes. She counted to three breaths, then imagined her personal mental trigger to activate her magic circuits. It was the swinging of a grandfather clock’s pendulum. From left to right, one full arc was completed, tick to tock, and her circuits opened, lifting the hair on the back of her neck as magical power coursed through her invisibly.

            Analysis, commence.

            Weight, calculated. Nothing unusual, though the driver may have put on about twenty pounds since he last came.

            Volume, determined. The same size it always was. The visual matrix of the truck’s dimensions was projected into her mind as a grid of lines.

            Contents, examined. Four coffins, each tied down with the utmost care.

            Addendum: each coffin possessed a slight glow of magical energy. Runes had been engraved on them to preserve organic materials lying within and block spying on their insides via magecraft.

            Secondary analysis completed. One body in each coffin. Dimensions and weight of each body identical to the standard template. No discrepancies observed.

            Threat, detected.

            The girl stepped back from the truck, breaking her own spell prematurely with wide eyes. She glanced up at the driver, who raised his eyebrows at her, seemingly confused. But then he raised a silenced pistol up from behind the window, aiming it directly at her. His finger squeezed the trigger, but not before hers squeezed the bounded field that protected the estate.

            He slumped over the wheel without warning, fully unconscious in an instant. Adolpha squeezed her thumb and index finger together, raising the alarm across the entire bounded field. She issued a simple message to all within it: explosive device. She backed away from the truck, and by the time her breath had steadied and she realized she had been gasping for air, combat homunculi came swarming from the woods around her and surrounded the truck like ants.

            “Driver is neutralized,” said a scout-type as she checked his vitals through the window, careful not to open the door and risk triggering the bomb. “Alive. May be susceptible to interrogation.”

            “Explosive under the fuel tank,” a male said as he laid himself flat on the ground to peer up underneath the vehicle. “No timer. Remote detonation mechanism suspected. ”

            Two of the soldiers came straight to Adolpha and firmly escorted her to the castle while the small army of elite combat models fanned out across the forest. Neither of them said a thing to her, not that she would have paid them any attention.

            Before she knew it, she was standing in the great hall of the Einzbern castle.

            A tall, proud man walked up to her, flanked on both sides by premier Renaissance servant models – that is to say, models designed not merely to serve in day to day duties, but as the highest class of fighter and mage that the Einzbern craft could produce. Their being assigned solely to attend to the unit they followed spoke of his absolute importance to the Einzbern enterprise.

            He was the bearded terminal. Old Man Acht, as the other homunculi called him in hushed whispers. Jubstacheit von Einzbern. He peered down at the short teenager standing before him with as severe a glare as he always had on his face.

            “The intrusion seems to have been limited to only that vehicle,” he said. “The driver is being brought here to be interrogated, and the bomb was detonated harmlessly. You will need to be debriefed.”

            “I understand,” Adolpha said after a moment’s hesitation. She could not help but avoid his eyes that seemed to burn with an immense and ancient intelligence. After all, the terminal –Acht – was in its eighth generation, and overseer of the entire Great Family. What he had seen and pondered in his age surely could not ever be truly understood by humans. Only vampires, Dead Apostles, and magi who had employed heretical methods to live far beyond their years could be considered his peers. Of course, Acht himself was no human to begin with, but an artificial intelligence that simply used homunculus bodies as temporary vessels.

            What she expected less than anything was for Acht to just turn and walk away without another word. In all her experience working with him, he had never just stared at her without something to say, like, “Your skill at evocation is the worst I’ve ever beheld,” or “You have crumbs on your lip.”

            One of Acht’s personal servants remained behind as the other left along with her master. The homunculus extended a silk handkerchief, folded with extreme precision and care, and Adolpha gingerly took it and sullied it with the task of cleaning the cold sweat off her face.

            “Haha, sorry, sorry! I must smell awful,” the girl murmured with a blush.

            “Follow me. I will debrief you.”

            “Yeah… sure.”

            Adolpha did not know how to express what she felt.

            How could she convey to these people the fear of death when they were all designed to possess only the most dulled of emotions to act as ideal servants?

            She did not even know why she apologized. It was not as though they cared. None of them even looked at her. They were the ones she saw and spoke with every day of her life, and she knew nothing about any of them. She had told them everything, her feelings, her thoughts, even her deepest, most embarrassing secrets. And they had not said a word about it, merely nodding in explicit understanding and implicit dismissal of her problems as unimportant.

            In that castle full of living dolls, Adolpha walked alone.

 

 

            “How was your work today?” her mother asked from the bed in the corner of the inhumanly clean room. She did not turn her gaze away from the large window through which she could view miles of untouched German forests, full of chittering insects and singing birds.

            “It was fine,” Adolpha said, walking over to the stool beside the white bed and sitting on it. She smoothed over her wrinkled ankle-length skirt, then sighed. “Did you read anything nice today?”

            “Goethe. Faust.”

            “That again?”

            “I still have not finished it.”

            She neglected to mention the fact that her eyes could barely handle a few pages a day without the migraines coming back.

            “It was not fine, was it?” her mother asked, finally turning to look at her daughter with a small smile.

            Adolpha almost asked how she knew, but shut her own mouth. She had given up long ago on understanding her keen intuition.

            “There was an attack. A bomb on a delivery of broken models for recycling. The driver was a regular – but his mind had been completely rewritten without any traces of who did it. We don’t know the perpetrator.”

            “Any family as venerable as the Einzberns has more enemies than it can even remember making. Of course, few would dare attack the family directly. Such a simplistic assault is something only a sniveling line of cowards and third-rates would attempt, however. No doubt the family responsible could not even afford Einzbern products,” the woman postulated.

            “I don’t understand. Trade wars, political struggles, I can understand those as they crop up. But why do magi have to fight each other over nothing at all, just petty revenge?” Adolpha asked, digging her fingers into the fabric of her skirt.

            “Magi like you and me are engaged in the most vital duty in the world. Our work is so important that if we would not kill to preserve or advance it, we are failures to our families. Murder between magi is far from a common occurrence, but it is not exactly rare either. Because the nature of our path leads us into conflict with one another, sometimes there is no recourse but to shed blood.”

            “I hate killing!” Adolpha said. “I don’t want to kill anyone!”

            The bed-locked woman smiled a little more. “Being averse to battle is not a weakness, as long as you do not let it turn into cowardice. Pick your battles carefully. Avoid the ones you can afford to and the ones that serve you none. But always, always remember that even if you would prefer not to, others will gladly slay you for profit. For pride. Even just for fun. You know so much of homunculi, but so little of humans at large. That is my greatest failing as a mother. I should have taken you out to see the world more often, but…”

            “It’s not your fault.” She said those words without betraying the anger she felt at hearing her mother insult herself. “You got sick.”

            “Of course it is my fault. I volunteered for those experiments.”

            “It’s not your fault the Einzberns are falling apart! You didn’t have to sacrifice your health to save them! They’re just dolls! Useless fucking dolls!” Adolpha shouted, standing up so vigorously that the stool behind her fell to the floor. Tears welled up in her eyes. The emotion she felt burning in her heart was too intense not to.

            Someone came and picked up the stool, setting it upright. Adolpha turned to see the homunculus nurse that always took care of her mother bowing deeply to her, and she lifted her hand up high above, ready to drop it down like a hammer. She hesitated.

            And she swung her fist down, bashing the nurse in the back of the head. The homunculus collapsed, weakly attempting to stand back up.

            “Adolpha!”

            “Get out!” Adolpha shouted, and the nurse struggled to her feet, wobbly, barely able to stand, somehow making her way out of the room, whispering apologies all the way.

            “I am ashamed of you,” her mother said in a low, severe growl. “What is my name?”

            “Mom.”

            “No! What is my name?”

            Adolpha stood there, staring at the floor. “…Ectressia von Elfbern.”

            “And what is your name?”

            “Adolpha.”

            “Your full name.”

            “Adolpha von Elfbern! I am Adolpha von Elfbern. I get it! I dishonored you and our heritage!”

            “No, Adolpha. You dishonored yourself. Go and apologize to that poor homunculus.”

            “No!” the brunette shouted, shaking her head so violently that her wavy locks swung around. “I refuse!”

            “Do you earnestly believe that they have no emotions? After everything I’ve taught you? All the time you’ve spent with them?”

            “Whatever they have, it is not worth my time!”

            “Adolpha, you are a Tuner. It is your duty, above all else, to be the Einzberns’ interface with the greater world. There were once several Tuner families cooperating to serve the interests of the Einzberns, but now there is only us. That means all the responsibility falls to you when I am gone.”

            “Yeah, and that won’t be long, huh?”

            “If you abandon them and your duties, then they will be left alone and helpless in this world. Despite how they may appear, they still have souls. You would be condemning them to a terrible fate that they do not deserve.”

            “They are dolls! Who cares?!”

            “I care. And I know you care, too, Adolpha. No matter how much you want to deny it,” Ectressia said, looking at her daughter with something akin to pity.

            “Deny it? No. Mom, they killed you! Is there any wonder why the other Tuners died out?

            “I am not dead yet. And I am still your mother. Bide your disrespectful tongue!”

            “I will not! I’m tired of holding it all in! Let me be honest with everyone, for the first time in my life! Don’t make me tell more lies! Especially not to myself!” the girl shouted. “I’m leaving!”

            “Do not walk out on me!” Ectressia shouted, but Adolpha was beyond listening.

 

 

            Of course Adolpha understood where things had gone so wrong. She understood more clearly than even the Einzberns, in all likelihood.

            The Holy Grail. The day that was stolen was the day the Einzberns lost their greatest work, their pride and joy. It was supposed to be a miracle, a way to save all of humanity. But humanity itself ruined its own path to salvation, and the homunculi did not know how to respond.

            There was a search, of course. But so many fake Holy Grails appeared when someone leaked the foundational principles of the Grail itself, its construction, essentially the basic blueprint of the device without any of the details of its composition and function. Envoys were dispatched to each at first to verify if the Grail was the Fuyuki Grail or just an imitator, and each investigation led only to wild goose chases. Finding the true Grail was like attempting to find a needle in a haystack, so many false leads that the truth, if it was even known by anyone, would go unnoticed.

            The Einzberns did the only thing they knew how to do: attempt to build a new one.

            But the core of the Greater Grail had only been produced by a miracle, a chance fluke. Not by intention or design. Even if they still somehow possessed the resources and funding necessary to manufacture another Holy Grail—they lacked the knowledge required to achieve such an endeavor.

            That did not stop them. Of course it did not. They experimented. They knew intricately how to produce Lesser Grails, but that was only a small part of the Grail system. They meddled with the bodies of volunteering magi, turning them into partial Grails at the cost of their lifespan in an attempt to rediscover the miracle that produced the core of the Grail. They failed.

            To stave off ruin, they even produced Lesser Grails to function as part of Subcategory Holy Grail Wars across the globe, selling them for exorbitant fees, but magi desperate to reach the Root were all too willing to pay. After all, the Einzberns were the best. There were other families with the expertise to produce Lesser Grails, but theirs were all of inferior quality. Even the theft of family secrets, the secrets of how Einzberns produce the finest homunculi in the world, did not really impact their business dealings significantly, because no second-rate family could decipher the sheer complexity and robustness of the Einzbern processes regardless.

            But it was plain as day.

            The Einzberns were on a ticking clock to their own destruction. And they were dragging down every family associated with them on their way to hell.

            Adolpha picked up the cup of tea from the Sterling silver platter as it was offered to her by one of the countless albino servants. She smelt the wafting steam, the rich aroma of the dark tea, put it to her lips and tasted it for herself. It was phenomenal, as always.

            No one had come to her seeking restitution for the nurse she had struck. It seemed she would face no punishment for it. The only reason that could possibly be is if none of them cared. Too busy with their work, their troublesome attempts to pierce the veil and reach the Root and save mankind. Typical dolls.

            To say that she had any desire to stay there and work for the same family that stole the health of her mother would be a falsehood. Especially if it meant having to endure assassination attempts intended for the Einzberns, not her.

            Adolpha seethed. In truth, she had been seething for years. It was all too much. If the homunculi around her had even an ounce of sympathy for her, showed even the slightest repentance for what they had done to her family, she might have forgiven them. But her mother had thrown her life away for thankless machines.

            Why bother serving a master that knew not the value and feelings of its underlings?

            There were much better things she could be doing than this.

            She finished her tea, set the cup back on the platter, and she already knew what she would do. Ironically, the same issue that had damned the Einzberns would no doubt be the savior of her mother.

            Though there were hundreds of inferior Grails across the world, they were still Grails of a certain degree of power. The real Holy Grail could probably grant almost any wish within reason, even perform miracles like True Magic, but she did not need power of that magnitude. It was hardly as though she was going to be seeking something foolish like the power to restore the Einzberns to their former glory.

            Adolpha made a decision. A vow to herself. It was not a new thought, but one she had tried to silence for an entire year, and could bear it no longer. She would go to a Subcategory Holy Grail War, win it, claim the power its Grail offered, and use it to restore her mother’s health.

             And she would do so using a relic that the Einzberns had prepared for a future Fuyuki grail war. No doubt, their archives contained a trove of powerful catalysts.

 

 

            She almost couldn’t believe how lucky she was. Or rather, how unrestricted her access to the castle had been. The Einzberns simply let her walk around in their most private and protected library without even an explanation of why she was in there. Their bounded field did not reject her or trigger any alarms for her presence. The guards simply stood there and waved at her as she passed them. They did nothing but watch as she dragged a huge crate on a trolley along with a couple smaller boxes right out of there.

            Not even a peep when she took that stuff out of the castle and to the Elfbern vehicle, an old, beat-up pickup truck that had seen better days, loaded it all onto the truck bed with some effort (and a few reinforcement spells to key lifting muscles and bones), and kicked the trolley away. Not a single servant came out to ask what she was doing, where she was going, why.

            “Heh, stupid dolls,” Adolpha giggled to herself, quite pleased. She almost wanted to turn and shout out what she was doing to the whole castle and just drive off, but decided against it. Even as giddy as she was, she remained quite aware of the consequences of her actions should she be caught.

            She climbed into the truck, started it, and drove down to the Elfbern cottage on the main road. Only needing a few things, she threw together a briefcase of clothes, some of the family’s finances, and grabbed a few other important items, slipping them into bags of their own before sprinting back to the truck, throwing them into the other seat in the cab, and slamming the accelerator down to the floor. The tires of the truck peeled out loudly, burning rubber as she took off away from the grey castle.

            The sun came to set five hours later, and she pulled over in a small hamlet, purchasing a cheap and unsatisfying kottenbutter from a greasy local deli for supper. Adolpha chose not to spend money on an inn, and instead slept in her truck. She regretted that decision immensely when she woke up sore and more exhausted than when she had nodded off because of the awful bed that the cab seat made.

            After snagging a quick breakfast of eggs and toast, she double-checked her route. In her cab, she pulled out the small globe of the world that she had snatched from the Einzberns’ deep library, and glanced at each of the magically glowing beacons on its etched bronze surface.

            There were three kinds of lights. One, the most common, was a dim yellow, signifying a dormant Grail. Another kind was bright red, which she understood to signal an active Subcategory Holy Grail War taking place for that Grail. The third and least common light was pale blue, something signifying a Holy Grail War in the _preparation stage_. In other words, the Grail had activated, but had not yet selected the final Master. There were only two of this color; one lied in Venezeula, South America, while the other flickered over Siberia, Russia.

            “Siberia it is,” she muttered to herself. She had resolved herself to many things, but going to South America was a bit beyond her.

            Something occurred to her, and Adolpha reached into her leather greatcoat. She withdrew something that felt strangely heavy, a small black handgun with a suppressor attached. It was the same one the driver of that truck had carried, and she had swiped it from where it had been left for magic analysis. She knew next to nothing about guns, having only seen and used the old over-under shotgun that her father had purchased for hunting, but an encyclopedia of firearms had been laid out next to the pistol for identification purposes, and she memorized the entry.

            It was a Makarov PB, or Pistolet Besshumnyy, the 6P9, an old Soviet design that was still in use by Russian special forces and spies. She had of course read the description of its operation and specifications, but most of it went over her head. What she did understand was the effective range – fifty meters – and the magazine size, eight bullets. A second magazine had been recovered from the driver, and she had the wherewithal to take it, thankfully. However, only sixteen shots was hardly much to speak of, so she figured a trip to an ammunition store somewhere in the former Soviet blocs would be a wise move.

            Adolpha hit the road, avoiding the major highways of Germany, choosing to drive through its more rural lands where the bounded fields of various Supervisors would cloak her movements from any Einzbern pursuers. She did not have to fear or greet the Supervisors themselves, as they had no reason to take an interest in her if she was merely passing through their territory rather than stopping, and she was just some lowly apprentice as far as the Mage Association was concerned.

            She drove all the way to Munich, but due to her long and winding route and taking the time to cover her tracks, it was already late and so she parked at a small, family-owned hotel. She did not need to pay the owners, possessing the spells required to hypnotize them into believing she was a welcomed guest that could stay free of charge in the Magic Crest she had inherited from her mother, but that would be more conspicuous if any mages came looking for her.

            All she did was convince them that she looked like an old acquaintance of theirs, a middle-aged man who was balding and always wore suspenders, paid them what they asked, and went into her room and flopped down on the comfortable bed. It was so much nicer than the truck cab seat that she was almost instantly asleep, forgetting to undress or even crawl under the covers. With her last fading thoughts, she activated one of the spells embedded in her Crest to deploy a small, room-sized boundary field that simply guarded against trespassers and made mundane people and animals leave and avoid her.

 

 

            When the girl woke up, the first thing she did was climb into the shower and let the steaming water revitalize her body and mind. The fresh hot water washed away so many of her aches and itches that she could not help herself; she had to stand there and let it pour over her face and run down her body for much longer than she ever dared to in the cottage. Her mother had always enforced a strict time limit on hot showers so that there would be enough warm water for both of them to bathe every night because their water heater was old and dilapidated. Then again, at least they had one. The castle had no such modern amenities.

            Adolpha stepped out of the shower and into the steamy air of the bathroom, wiping the massive mirror clear to see her own reflection. Her messy wet hair was still dripping around her shoulders, and naturally she examined her own body with a sort of cold, dispassionate gaze that only reaffirmed what she already knew.

            She found her form to be annoyingly feminine. Her face was round, girlish and freckled, her deep green eyes glowing back at her. Her collar was pale and freckly like the rest of her skin, thin, delicate. She always thought it was one of her most charming points, but in her opinion it was marred by what lied below; her chest stood out as remarkably large, especially for her age. She had inherited it from her mother, who always told her to take pride in it for she would not have much trouble finding a husband with such a body, but it always felt like it got in the way of her more physical pursuits like the gymnastics she practiced on and off.

            Each fleshy hill stood round, perky, and weighty, capped by cute pink nipples surrounded by yet more brown freckles. She lifted one of them up a little, wondering if men truly cared about such things. They served no real purpose unlike her hips, which were naturally wide for childbirthing like any female magus would hope. She had had very few contacts with men aside from the delivery guys and magi who came up to visit and broker deals with the Einzberns, and she’d never noticed them paying her much attention. She picked up the white E-cup bra she had pulled out of her luggage and pulled it on around her chest, adjusting the fit to be sure it supported each of her bosoms properly and would not be uncomfortable. Even when she pulled on her clean button-up shirt afterward, her bust stood out against the fabric. She did her best to ignore it.

            Suddenly a shock reverberated through the room – not physically, but in the magical energy surrounding it, producing a feeling like a series of static shocks down Adolpha’s spine. She had an incantation on her lips as she bolted out the bathroom and aimed her arm at the door, finding one of the hotel owners standing there, the old man in charge. He looked her up and down.

            “Oh, there you are, my friend. Sorry to disturb you, but I brought breakfast up and I knocked several times, but you said nothing. I was worried it might be your heart acting up again! Hohoho!” he said jovially, pulling in the breakfast cart.

            “Eh? Wha-?” Adolpha murmured. She forgot all about the offensive curse she had prepared. A normal human should not have been able to enter the room with the bounded field she had set up, but…

            Ah. There was something she had heard from her mother about something like this happening from time to time. Closing off an area from normal people with a bounded field was not effective if the premises were intimately familiar to them. Like, for example, someone’s home or owned establishment where they had lived and worked for years. If their body knew the way, then just manipulating their minds would be ineffective.

            A draft from the open door blew between Adolpha’s bare, wet legs, and she glanced down and her cheeks turned a dark red. Though her shirt hung down quite low, the v of its tail left everything important fully bare. She stood there, glancing up at the man and back down at her state of undress, absolutely flustered, pulling her wet locks of hair down around her mouth in shame.

            “What’s the matter? Not hungry?” the old owner asked as he set the plates of eggs and toast on the table. He obviously still saw her as his buddy from years past, so his own mind would invent whatever attire he would assume that illusion to be wearing. Her dignity was intact, but…

            Something pulsed in her core. Her Magic Crest felt like it was on fire, and she walked over to him. She put her hand on his head and spoke the spell to break the hypnotic illusion, and he looked at her very differently, gulping, confused, yet clearly, something was already stirring in him at the sight of her. She ripped her shirt open, popping all the buttons off, showing him her cleavage barely contained by her bra.

            His hands moved to her light body, wrapping around her waist, lifting her up onto the table. She spread her thighs wide and watched him clumsily pull the stiffness out of his pants, lifting her legs up and angling his shaft at her puffy mound. He thrust into her like an animal, splitting her open, tearing her hymen to shreds and forcing her to gasp in brief pain that was rapidly replaced with sweet, sweet pleasure.

            He humped her into the table, knocking the plates off of it, spilling the food all over the carpet, but neither cared. She looked up into his eyes as he made short, quick, animalistic swings down into her, driving himself deep, taking her without mercy or patience, no love, nothing but sating his obscene lust.

            Being used like that, being ravaged despite her pleas for him to slow down or stop, violating her maidenhood without even knowing her name, or her his, it was intoxicating to Adolpha. She was completely out of control, he had all the power over her, and he was going to get off regardless of whether she did or not.

            It felt like it had only just begun when suddenly Adolpha shook her head, and the vision vanished as soon as it had come. She was still standing there as before, with him setting down silverware on a napkin, as though almost no time had passed. The red mess that should have been made of her womanhood was not there, but——

            She was wet. Adolpha was very wet. And there was this urge in her center, her belly, this sensation of emptiness and moisture within. Heat. She felt sweaty, even though she was still wet from the shower. Her legs felt weak and wobbly. It was a feeling she had only felt a few times before, usually after waking up from some dream she could not recall, but she knew it to be arousal. Her Magic Crest, which looked almost like a glyph tattoo on her belly, was still flared up blue with mana from the curse she had nearly cast. She took a few moments to discharge it, letting the glowing markings fade back into just pale skin under her shirt.

            The bearded old man finished and coughed lightly into a hand. “Well, you have a good day if I don’t see you walk outta here,” he said with a smile before stepping out of the room. And a voice in Adolpha’s heart almost made her go after him, try to recreate what she had just seen. It was a voice that she put down with cold impassion. Such a frivolity was beneath her. She did not even know the man’s name. And she had no intention of giving herself up for so little as a passing fancy. What sort of woman would spread her legs for so meaningless a thing as that?

            And yet, what she had seen – no, felt and smelled and heard – seemed so bizarrely real that she could have mistaken it for reality. She immediately performed a sweep of the room for any wayward traces of magic energy, any signs that a spell had been laid on it or that some force had caused a hallucination, but there was nothing except her own field.

            That troubled Adolpha. Because there was now the possibility that she had been toyed with by a magus of immense skill, one who had the expertise required to disguise all of his doings within the natural flow of mana of her own bounded field. To accomplish such a thing, even in the nine hours she had spent in the room, was a feat comparable to scooping up a fish without disturbing the water of a pond at all. In other words, impossible.

            Though, there were still magi who had done such a thing. And likely at least a few who could do so in modern times. And if one of them happened to be after her, or even just messing with her…

            She had much cause for concern.

 

 

            Eschewing breakfast, she quickly pulled on panties, stockings, and a knee-length denim skirt before dragging her suitcase out the door and back into her truck. She climbed in and turned the key, feeling the engine rumble into life through the vibrations coursing through the entire vehicle. She checked all her mirrors, taking the chance to surreptitiously check for familiars or anyone following. It was clear.

            She followed the highway out of Munich, headed into Austria. No doubt the pursuit team had put two and two together regarding her goal. Having stolen relics and a map to Holy Grail Wars, she could only have very few destinations. The key, then, was not to rush to Siberia as soon as possible – they could catch up with her in an instant given the resources the Einzberns had at hand. It was to avoid detection and reach Siberia in time to become a Master. Once she had a Servant, she could defeat any recovery team sent her way with ease.

            But until then, she was on her own.

            Adolpha again took an almost circular, weaving course through Austria. Though she lost many hours as a result, she still made it all the way to Budapest, yet it was already midnight by then. Weary-eyed and having gone without food all that way, the girl climbed out of her truck in the parking lot of some cinema and marched to the ticket counter, where an acne-ridden teenager made her pay an exorbitant price for just one ticket and had to be hypnotized into letting her in to see the main feature film because of concerns about her age.

            She chose the theater because staying in a hotel or motel repeatedly was too predictable. She could not risk forming a pattern to her movements. This time, she was not even going to stay very long. Only long enough to get a nice nap so she could get back on the road.

            The feature turned out to be a children’s movie, which shocked her since she had not even checked the ticket to see what it would be and just assumed it would be something quite adult. Despite the weight of her exhaustion, she found it impossible to sleep because she kept remembering when her father and mother together took her out to their local cinema to watch family films together. She kept remembering why she had set out on this journey in the first place. She remained restless, and could not even relax watching the cartoons and their slapstick comedy on the screen.

            It took an hour before she became fed up and marched out, getting back in her truck and pulling away.

            Adolpha went over the plan she had made again over and over to stay awake despite the fatigue and the hypnotic view of road passing beneath her headlamps. She could likely clear a good amount of the distance to Bucharest before dawn, and at least get the border crossing out of the way. From there, she could make her way to the Black Sea and catch a ship to a Russian port. She would skip a great amount of dangerous land and enter territory very foreign to the Einzberns. Making it to Siberia once she had reached Russia would be child’s play.

            She slammed on the brakes, leaving rubber behind on the pavement as she skidded to a jerky stop. “ _Scheibenkleister_! _Mist_! _Verdammt_!” she shouted in anger, slamming her head into the wheel a few times, leaving her wavy brown hair dangling over it. The passport. She had forgotten her passport.

            Casting hypnosis on a few people was easy. Casting it on many people at once was extremely hard, because it took time and you could not easily draw in that many people for it. The moment someone got suspicious about you, the whole thing failed because suspicion was like a virus. And it was a border guard’s job to be suspicious. There would be enough soldiers and civilians at the border crossing, even at that time of night, that attempting to hypnotize them on the fly, without any preparation whatsoever, was not only risky but sloppy. The Elfbern Crest had only the fundamentals of these spells in it; more advanced applications and techniques had never been explored.

            Adolpha considered attempting to blend a hypnotic command in with a rapid-deployment bounded field. In theory, such a thing could work – she had done that very thing at the hotel room – but there were several issues with it. Even the relatively simple hypnotic command in the hotel room had failed. Hypnosis could not control how an individual acts or reacts, it could only bring out things from memory and hidden thoughts, and that could give wildly variant results, nothing specific. Hypnosis made individuals see what they were prepared to see: it could not rewrite their personality, alter their memories beyond a certain point, or conjure up illusionary passports where the guards may not be prepared to see them. Their job was to check for passports, so there was an implicit, subconscious doubt as to the existence of each individual’s passport until it was shown. She needed a very particular result, that is, they needed to all believe she had a passport and it needed to be the same across all of the guards and civilians. But they could all see a _different_ passport, or none at all.

            Illusion magic was another possible solution, but she was only familiar with the principles of it, she had never cast any herself because she always saw it as worthless. Adolpha had never even attempted to deploy something so complex as an illusion before, let alone an illusion meant to fool so many individuals at once from so many different angles, and her Crest had nothing helpful in that regard either. Moreover, you could not fool a computer system with spells and trickery, so, even if you presented all the guards there with an illusion of a passport and it was accurate enough to work, any false number on said illusion would still fail the database check. She was certain that specialists could manage such a feat, but she was as far from a specialist in that field as one could be.

            More importantly, there were cameras all over the place at the border, and those could not be tricked by magecraft of any kind, and she had little knowledge of such technology herself. Ultimately, no matter what sort of trick she played, it would leave a big mess behind, too many people scratching their heads. It could hit the local news, and then she could have the entire Association coming down on her for it.

            The Einzberns did not have their fingers in anything as mundane as governments, so even using her actual passport would not endanger her in the least. It would never have been a problem if she had just remembered to pack it.

            Adolpha cursed into her steering wheel for a few minutes. Going back for it was not an option. And even if she did not go through Romania, she would still need the passport _somewhere_ in order to get into Russia. There was nothing she could do but push forward.

 

 

            She pulled forward as the line of cars finally exhausted itself through the border, and she was next up. Adolpha flashed a smile at the uniformed soldier standing at the kiosk, who gruffly held out a hand and said, “Papers, please,” in German. He looked tired, and not at all wishing to be where he was.

            “Of course, sir, let me get them from my purse,” Adolpha replied in flawless Romanian.

            Due to needing to host mages from a wide variety of nations for the Einzberns, the Elfberns had traveled the world and learned many of its languages and developed a means of encrypting that knowledge into their Magic Crest. Each generation was said to learn two or three languages over the course of their lifetime, first through study of literatures, then through immersion in that country for several years to master the subtleties. Every language was then added to the Crest, making them more perfect in their duties as Tuners. Over a hundred languages were stored in the Crest, though a dozen or so were archaic and had died off long ago or evolved into entirely different languages, like Latin, Sanskrit, and Old Norse.

            The soldier seemed confused by her accentless speech. “Oh, you know Romanian? Have you been here before?”

            “No, sir, I learned it in my studies,” she said as she dug around beneath her legs in the ‘purse.’

            She did not actually own a purse, but she did not need it. What she needed was her passport. And she had a way to get it.

            Gradation Air. A spell that could temporarily produce objects using nothing more than magical energy. However, it was terribly inefficient when used for anything other than mundane objects, as the cost of producing and maintaining it became much greater, and it took more time to replicate more complicated or powerful things correctly. Most mages only used such a worthless spell to replace a tool or ingredient they had forgotten for a ritual.

            The soldier checked his watch, leaning on one leg impatiently as he glanced at the waiting line of cars.

            But Adolpha was paying him no heed. She needed to focus. She did not bother doing this before, as it would have just been a waste of energy to maintain the thing for however long it took to get to the border, and she needed every unit of mana she could spare in case a pursuer came for her. Gradation Air was a development upon the spell of Reinforcement, one that Adolpha was quite skilled with. She had no problems projecting things in her training. But the pressure was on her now.

            She exhaled, and entered a meditative trance. She called forth her most vivid memories of her passport – the day she got it and read through it front to back, the day she first used it on a trip with her father to America, the time she spilt coffee on her work desk and managed to shove all her papers off of it. Just not fast enough to stop it from bleeding into the very edges of the pages, sadly.

            The details were all there. The sight of it, every number, every emblem, the colors, the subliminal, hidden markings for veracity, every page, every stamp it ever took. As a mage, she had learned to imprint all such things in her mind for nearly everything of note she looked at for the sake of recollection, and now it was proving essential for this. Her mother’s teachings were indeed invaluable.

            The magic circuits in her hand flared up a light blue, almost bright enough to be visible from outside the cab, but the soldier was not paying attention in his restlessness. Adolpha realized she was fortunate that she was a pretty young girl who did not invoke suspicion at a glance. The air itself seemed to contract in her hand, and the weight she had imagined in her fingers suddenly just became real with a slight crackle of noise.

            “Girl, these people are waiting,” the soldier said finally as his superior started to walk over with an unhappy look on his face.

            “Sorry! Sorry, you know how purses can be such black holes sometimes,” Adolpha giggled, pulling out the small black book and handing it over. The soldier took it and opened it, nodding and taking it into the kiosk to run its numbers and stamp it. A few moments later, he came back out and handed it back to her. She realized she had not been breathing, and sighed in relief as she set the passport down under her legs and let the spell end to conserve her power. It seemed things were rather lax at the border. But then, both Hungary and Romania were a part of the same union. That was only natural.

            “Next time, please have your passport ready when you pull up,” the grumpy guard said with a tone of irritation. He waved to the man in the kiosk to lift the boom gate, but suddenly the superior officer belayed that with a wave of his own. He walked up to the truck.

            “Miss, what business do you have in Romania?” the old, mustached man asked.

            Adolpha felt chills creep up her spine. She knew she should not have, but something about his demeanor, his almost piercing gaze, the smell of tobacco on his breath, awoke a girlish discomfort in her. It was a simple question that she had already rehearsed the answer to, and yet the way he delivered it quashed all her cool preparation like a bug.

            “Ah, er, well, just visiting a friend from school,” Adolpha said, and she gripped her steering wheel tightly, berating herself mentally for hesitating. Because he seemed to zero in on her like a hawk, as if a hunting dog that could smell the fox.

            “I see. May I see your passport again, please?” he asked, the picture of manners, and yet, all the more terrifying to her for it.

            “Is that necessary?” Adolpha asked. Every nerve in her screamed. She started to prepare herself for Gradation Air again, calling up those memories – but his face shook her, and made it difficult to focus. Something so simple, yet so insidious, was freezing her up.

            “…No. It is not. Petrescu, where is she from? Austria?” the officer asked, turning to the exhausted guard.

            “No, sir. Germany, I believe.”

            “Ah, Germany. Beautiful country. But why are you driving into fair Romania at this time of night, miss? You are not like these cargo haulers merely doing their jobs. Ah, wait, you do seem to have some cargo,” the officer said, walking back to look into the truck bed. “What are you bringing in such strange crates?”

            Adolpha blanched. This was bad.

            “Oh, that? Just some equipment I forgot to drop off at home before I came, haha,” Adolpha giggled. “Parts for the water heater. I live up in a cottage in the forests.”

            “Interesting. May we see these parts?”

            “I would prefer not,” Adolpha said.

            Something on her throat hurt, throbbing like a headache every time her heart beat. It was annoying, and distracting, and not at all what she needed at the moment. She had to think quickly. If she could lure the officer and the guard over to the window, get them to look into her eyes, she could hypnotize them with a few quick words. But how? They were just about ready to climb into the back of her truck. A bribe? Would offering such a thing work? Or would it just be unnecessary risk? Should she… offer something other than money?

            Adolpha glanced down at her shirt. It was a weapon she had never considered before, but a valid one in any magus’s arsenal nonetheless. Just a tease should be enough to catch their attention, and then she could hypnotize them. Yes——————

            “The devil is this?” the officer asked, having pried open the largest crate while Adolpha was sitting there pondering her next action. She twisted in her seat to look back through the window at him tilting his head in confusion. He looked at her, then at the other guards, then put the lid back on the crate and climbed down to the driver window again.

            “Is that a fossil in your trailer?” he asked, brow furrowed. But then his eyes drifted down to her neck and narrowed in. Adolpha tried to peer down at her own throat, quite unsuccessfully, but it occurred to her about the weird warm, itchy spot there.

            “What? What is it?” Adolpha asked, feeling the area and finding it tender, like a bruise.

            “My heartfelt apologies, miss. I was not aware the Association had sent you. Drive on through,” he said, tipping his cap and motioning to raise the boom gate for her.

            The other guards all seemed confused at his sudden change of heart, but he gathered them up and————

            Adolpha definitely caught the brief flash of mana through the air. A spell had been cast, and the guards all went back to their stations without another word. That officer, likely, was working for the Association. He may have not even been an actual member of the Romanian military, if he was as adept at social manipulation-type magecraft as he appeared to be.

            She hit the gas. The most important thing was that she was out of there. He did not seem to be allied with the Einzberns, so there was little risk of them catching her trail. And yet, even with all the relief she felt, something about the encounter disturbed her deeply. She had felt so… vulnerable.

            That man had her in the palm of his hand the entire time. If he had looked more closely, he might have noticed the bag with the family shotgun in it laying beside the large crate. Of course, he could also have just asked for a driver’s license, and she would have been ruined by such a simple check because she did not own one.

            She was too young to legally get one in Germany.

            Well, most magi did not bother with such menial things anyways.

            Her hand went back to her neck as she drove on through the night, pulling off the highway and onto a backroad that cut through the dense forests. What exactly had the border officer seen there? A bruise? She did not remember bumping herself there.

            She pulled over on the side of the road, wheels crunching into the dirt.

            She pushed the button to snap on the overhead passenger light, then dropped one of the sun visors and flipped open the mirror on the back of it. Adolpha’s jaw dropped. There, stretching across her neck, was a newly formed black glyph, like a tattoo. It was made of three distinct red markings: the first was like a chain stretching half around her neck, jagged and barbed. There was a sharp crescent with what looked like wings or teeth crossing it in the middle, and a much smaller dot that looked almost like a jewel hidden inside the curve of the crescent. It was like a half-choker, only two dimensional.

            “What the hell,” Adolpha said. As much as she did not believe it, the phenomenon lined up exactly with everything she had read about Holy Grail Wars in the Einzbern library since childhood. She used to love the idea of meeting legendary figures and watching them fight it out, but... Three markings, three command spells. Indeed, just by concentrating on them, she could feel the sheer power emanating from each marking, each a spell of such immense crystallized mana to be considered great magic all on their own.

            The problem was not that they had appeared. That made her giddy. It was possible she would have not been chosen by the Grail at all, if there were more potential candidates than Servants available. The problem was that the spells, the very proof of being a chosen Master, appeared far sooner than anticipated.

            “Did the Siberian Grail choose me to participate from this distance?” Adolpha asked the silent air. “No, no, most Grails have been fine-tuned for decades to only select from worthy candidates in small areas to prevent dragging unwilling magi into the war,” she said to herself, repeating information she practically knew by heart.

            In a nation as gigantic as Russia, not even being inside its borders was sufficient to be chosen by a Grail situated in Siberia. One would need to be in that region itself to be considered a valid Master candidate.

            Technically, a better crafted Grail like the original Fuyuki Grail System would not have included magi who had no will to participate in a Holy Grail War in the first place. Inferior Grail System imitations lacked the sophistication and centuries of careful planning of the original, so many failsafes like a limited regional recruitment had to be put in place to avoid making troublesome messes.

            Adolpha took out the Grail globe from before, examining its surface. There were no lights in Romania, nothing indicating a Holy Grail War was about to take place there or anywhere around it for that matter. That either meant she had received command spells from a much more distant source than she had considered, or…

            Could there be a Grail hidden somewhere in Romania?

            Adolpha slipped the globe back into her luggage, pulled the 6P9 and double checked that it was loaded and the safety was on, and replaced that in her coat. She clicked the cab light off and pulled back onto the road, the hairs on the back of her neck standing tall. Though she had the inkling already, she now recognized that uncanny feeling creeping into her chest.

            The feeling of being watched.

 

 

            The brunette woke up in the afternoon. She rolled off of her bed and into the shower to wake herself up by force of a cold shower. The bathroom was filthy, so she tried her best to avoid the worst crusty stains while she took care of her basic hygienic needs like brushing her teeth and shaving her legs.

            Once she was clean, she went over to the windows and peered through the narrow slits in the blinds. There were an odd number of doves sitting on the powerlines outside the window, but she could sense no mana signatures from any of them.

            All familiars had traces of mana emanating from them, so they were easy to identify once you knew the trick to it. There were no real cheat codes that could hide the nature of a familiar, only ways of confusing and concealing the identity of its master. But it did not seem she was being directly observed by any magi. That did not rule out the possibility she was being followed and observed, but her bounded field had not been disturbed at all since she crashed in the cheap motel room after finally running out of steam somewhere outside Bucharest.

            Somewhat more relaxed, Adolpha yawned, still trying to fight the sleep out of her nerves as she sat on the foot of the bed and turned on the TV. The news was nothing remarkable. The weather would be fine for driving, and current affairs were as boring as ever.

            She shut the television off with another yawn. She reached up to touch her command spells, finding no soreness there anymore. If she had not verified their presence just a few minutes ago in the bathroom mirror, she would have thought they might have been just a hallucination of fatigue.

            Even just from a few days straight of nonstop driving, she felt like all her muscles had been abused and her eyes ached at the mere thought of looking at more road. She got up and started doing cursory stretches, touching her toes, doing the splits on the floor, swinging her arms around to loosen them up, some pushups, then one-handed, ten, twenty, thirty for each arm on their own. She lifted her legs up and balanced them perfectly vertically above her as she continued, managing ten more like that with each arm individually, then cooling down by using both simultaneously and then flipping back onto her feet with one great push of her arms.

            She wished she had some proper gym equipment she could really go wild on like weights and a pullup bar and a pommel horse and flying rings. She had taught herself by watching gymnastics competitions on the television – a modern amenity that her mother scorned having in the household, yet her father encouraged – and trying her best to do what all the stars did on her own equipment out in the shed that her father bought for her.

            It had been so long since she last exercised herself to her own limits that she felt flabby, weak, and uncoordinated. Her toned muscles had softened considerably in the years since her mother fell ill and more of the family duty as Tuners had been shifted onto her prematurely. Not that she could focus on her hobby with her mother in misery, regardless.

             Lightly sweating, Adolpha realized she had wasted her time spent showering and cleaning up, but found it hard to regret it. It felt great just to work some life back into her body after sitting in the truck all day for several days in a row. She wanted to keep going, in fact. But there were more important things to take care of.

            Adolpha guiltily took a second shower, this time warm, just to quickly rinse off the sweat, then pulled on a bra, some tight bike spats and socks and her boots. As she was dressing, there was a knock at the door. She jolted to her feet, her first thought to quickly pull on a shirt, but her second one of concern. If a person was at the door, her bounded field ought to have tripped the alarm.

            She went and peered through the peephole. There did not seem to be anyone out there. What made the noise?

            She unlocked and slowly opened the door a crack, glaring up and down. There was indeed nothing to be found, except a small envelope on the welcome mat. Adolpha knelt down and snatched it up, slamming the door shut and locking it. She immediately cast a defensive barrier around the borders of her bounded field that fortified the walls and windows and door against any sort of magical attack. Then, she went back to the bed and opened the unmarked letter, handwritten in an annoyingly perfect German script:

            “Dear honored Master of the Holy Grail War,

The Grail has chosen you to participate. Forgive these unusual circumstances, as I would have contacted you by more conventional methods if I had the means to do so. Unfortunately, I have very little information about you, not even your name. Let me introduce myself before you read further. I am Kotomine Shirou, Church Supervisor for this Holy Grail War you have entered.”

            Adolpha raised an eyebrow when she read that, yet felt great relief. If the letter belonged to an enemy Master, it could have been boobytrapped. Though, the Church and Magi were not exactly close allies, either. There was just a very respected arrangement that the Church would provide a Supervisor for every Holy Grail War who would ensure certain rules are followed, such as preventing excessive collateral damage or covering up anything that might expose the existence of magic to the public. The Supervisor also acted as an impartial guardian for defeated Masters, granting them the sanctuary of the Church itself until the war ended.

            In other words, the Church Supervisor was the closest thing to an unquestionable ally that any Master could ever have. Not that they would support every Master or even provide the slightest aid for winning the war, but they were reliable sources of information and in charge of declaring the formal start of every Holy Grail War – usually when the final Servant had been summoned.

            She continued reading.

            “I expect you know what I am talking about; I would expect any magus would in this day and age of so many Subcategory Holy Grail Wars. But if you were chosen, then you must have a reason to fight in this one, even if you do not recognize it yet.”

            That last sentence gave her pause, and she re-read it several times to be sure she understood what he was trying to say correctly. But the next few completely blew the prior away in terms of astonishment.

            “Unfortunately, this is no standard Holy Grail War you have entered. There are an abundance of unique circumstances that must be brought to your attention. First, and most importantly, the Masters gathering at this moment are not meant to battle each other. Second, the Association of Magi had intended only for certain mages to be chosen as Masters for this conflict. Third, you are not one of those magi.”

            “What the hell?” Adolpha asked nobody in particular.

            “I cannot explain the entirety of the situation to you as of yet, as this information is protected by both the Church and the Association. However, the important thing is that your status as Master has thrown your safety into question. Neither organization will permit you to simply continue on when you possess those command spells. Fear not: there are means that can be undertaken to free you from Masterhood if you truly believe those spells to be a burden. If you are otherwise willing to participate for a chance to acquire the power of the Holy Grail, then perhaps an arrangement can be made for that as well.”

            Adolpha flopped back onto the bed, holding the letter up as she continued reading it.

            “In either case, I humbly ask you to immediately come to my church in Sighisoara. Make your choice as to whether you wish to fight as Master or leave as a free girl before you arrive. If you are interested in the former, then I will explain this war in detail and what part you shall play in it. Otherwise, you will be relieved of your responsibilities and no more will come of it. I am afraid there is no time for dallying, and if you attempt to go anywhere else, I will have no choice but to declare you a threat to the security of both the Church and Association.”

            “Fuck off,” Adolpha hissed. “Humbly ask me? More like ‘Do as I say or I’ll have you gutted like a pig.’” She sat up, so angry she almost ripped the letter up. She flipped the page over and found no more, only an address for a church. That condescending threat was the last thing he bothered to say. Typical for magi. Not so much for clergy.

            Either way, Adolpha’s hands were tied. This priest had already decided her fate. All her instincts burned with distrust. There was no guarantee she would leave that church alive if she set foot in there. He may not have said much about what was going on, but it was clear that whatever war she had stumbled into was serious.

            Why would the Masters not fight each other?

            Why was the Association trying to handpick each Master?

            What she really wanted to do was just drive right back the way she had come.

            But if this guy really was the Supervisor for the war, then he really did have the authority to give out kill orders on Masters who he regarded as too dangerous. Orders that both organizations would carry out without a second thought.

            Somehow, Adolpha had gone from fleeing the wrath of the Einzberns right into a poisoned snare guarded by both the Church and the Association.

            The girl held her head in her hands. Just what on earth had she gotten herself into?

            And why was the Fuyuki Grail involved?

 

 

            Adolpha stuffed her mouth with warm bread and some sausages she bought from a bakery as she drove around, looking for the address in the letter. She had not only gotten lost in Bucharest, she was now lost in Sighisoara and struggling to find the right street, stopping to ask for directions as often as she could, but it felt like the pedestrians were just leading her in circles.

            It was not her first time driving in a town, but she realized she was by no means proficient enough in the art to read a map and drive at the same time. She kept slamming the brakes every time someone else revved their engines loudly and drove around her due to being so slow. That would distract her from her map reading, and she would forget the directions she had been told, and start wandering for a while until she again stopped to try to get her bearings, and the cycle repeated all over again.

            Every time she stopped at a stop light, doves would land on her truck and caw very loudly at her before lifting off all in one direction. It was the strangest thing, but they were not familiars. Just regular doves who were, apparently, trying to play games with her. Cute.

            “Really. Something as young as you is a Master? Are you even of age, girl?”

            Adolpha hit the brakes and looked over at the sudden body that had materialized in the middle seat of the cab, so close that their thighs and shoulders were touching. Adolpha brought both her thighs inward and stared at the person who had just appeared out of nowhere. It was an elf-eared woman with cold, reptillian eyes, long black hair stretching to her waist, and wearing a dark, extravagant dress. The first thought she had was, “Beautiful.”

            Of course, she immediately recognized that this woman was a Servant. She exuded magic energy from her very being, an overwhelming amount that mocked even the strongest magus. And if she had appeared in the cab, that likely meant this Servant had tracked her down in spiritual form – the natural state of all Servants, just an invisible, formless entity that could pass through all mundane objects like a ghost – and then materialized in her truck in the only available seat while she was driving. Indeed, such a precise feat of speed and maneuvering was something worthy of a Servant.

            “Uhh, abuh,” Adolpha stammered while cars honked behind her in outrage at her stopping in the middle of the road. As each realization led into the next, the girl soon realized that if a Servant had appeared in such close proximity, their purpose could only be to—————

            “I am not here to slay you, girl,” the Servant said, glaring at her intensely, as if her very existence had inconvenienced her. Those words that would normally be reassuring dripped with barely restrained venom that wormed into Adolpha’s heart and made her genuinely guilty and ashamed of herself. This Servant, this woman had such strength of personality, such a powerful presence, as though having descended from Heaven itself… or clawed her way up from Hell to appear before her.

            “Why are you here?” Adolpha asked, and the light of fury in the Servant’s yellow eyes nearly made her piss herself. Every slight emotion on her face seemed to convey a crushing pressure on Adolpha’s nerves and heart, like this woman was divine, beyond, superior to her in every way.

            “You _fool_. Why else would I be here than to guide you to the church?”

            “I, um, sorry, I’ve never been to Sighisoara before,” Adolpha said.

            “Did you not notice the omens I sent to show you the way?” the Servant snapped. “Do you earnestly believe those birds were behaving naturally?”

            “N-no,” the girl whispered. “Err, yes. Sorry.”

            Honk honk honk honk hooooonk.

            The young magus finally let her foot off the brakes and the truck started to roll forward.

            The Servant sighed with utter disdain for the situation she found herself in, leaning away from Adolpha.

            “Do you have any idea how much you have inconvenienced my Master and me? He has been doing all in his power to keep the other Masters patient for your arrival. You are fortunate he is of much greater patience than any of them or I.”

            “I’m sorry,” Adolpha said with such honest repentance that the strange, voluptuous woman seemed briefly disturbed by it. But it did little to douse her anger.

            “You have stolen something much more precious than belongings from us. You have cost us time. If you were not a Master on our side…” the haughty woman warned, leaving the rest to the girl’s imagination.

            “Turn right,” the Servant said, and Adolpha did so. She obeyed the Servant’s every direction for several minutes in total silence, unable to think of anything to say, simply ashamed of her own incompetence. Indeed, that was probably for the best, as the Servant may well have taken her life if she opened her mouth.

            This was not just a spirit, but an actual figure from legend itself. A Heroic Spirit summoned back to Earth. A real person from ancient times back from death for a brief time. In all likelihood, she was rubbing shoulders with a child of deities or a queen of an ancient, glorious kingdom. That thought chilled her as much as the feeling of the spirit’s soft flesh warmed her arm.

            “Left here.”

            Adolpha turned into a driveway on the outskirts of the city, heading towards a large, beautiful cathedral surrounded by lovely trees and grass. The Church spared no expense to keep its establishments in top shape.

            The girl almost giggled and said, “I guess we weren’t so far from it after all,” but stifled her own voice into a solemn gulp. If she acted so jovially with such a furious Servant beside her…

            She pulled into a parking space, noting the five other cars parked in the lot. If the church there had been set aside for use in the Holy Grail War as neutral territory, then likely its congregation had been told it was closed for renovations or something along those lines. Four of the cars were expensive and rare models rented from an airport. The last one was just a simple black sedan like any you might see in Romania. In other words, there were currently four other Masters in the Church, plus the priest in charge.

            At least she did not have to worry about getting into a fight there. Neutral ground was respected by all mages because the alternative was being hunted and killed by Executors.

            “So, just go inside?” Adolpha asked, and the Servant flashed her one last livid scowl before her body dissolved into golden sparkles and she vanished into thin air. All that remained behind was a voice:

            “If you tell anyone that you touched me, your demise will be more miserable than all the punishments of Hell.”

            Adolpha nodded, staring forward at the church grounds and keeping both hands on the steering wheel until she was sure the Servant was gone. She could not be sure, however, because somehow that Servant had come as close as to touch her without Adolpha being able to sense even the slightest bit of mana from her spiritual body. That could only mean one thing: that Servant was an Assassin.

            Assassins all had a class skill named Presence Concealment that allowed them to blend in with the world, erasing all traces of their own mana signature from not only mages, but other Servants as well. This ability was truly terrifying because not only did it permit undetectable surveillance, it also allowed, at higher ranks, for perfect or nearly perfect ambushes to be executed on other Servants… and Masters.

            Not that a Servant had need of such fancy tricks to defeat a mere magus. In truth, if that dangerously beautiful Servant truly wished to kill Adolpha, she could have simply shattered her skull against the steering wheel with the overwhelming strength that all Servants possessed. Even the lowest rank of strength that a Servant could possess was enough to break a human like a twig. Servants were far superior to humans in just their basic parameters, let alone their skills and trump cards. That was why only Servants could fight Servants.

            Adolpha climbed out of the car, checking the pistol in her coat one last time by detaching the magazine to be sure it was loaded. Then she popped her collar, thinking it looked dorky, but it did cover up her command spells. Neutral ground or not, something about the whole situation was just too _off_. She remembered the feeling of helplessness when that border officer was inspecting her. She remembered what her mother told her so many times before, repeating it like drilling it into her head.

            “You can never trust a magus. You can work for one, work with one, even respect one. But a magus would kill you without a second thought if he believed you were an obstacle to his aims, or if the risks of you living outweighed the benefits of keeping you alive. That is what magi are. Even the Elfberns have a history stained in blood. You, too, must become ruthless, or in your dealings with magi you will become a victim.”

            She slammed the magazine back into the 6P9 with a loud click.

 

 

            The doors of the church swung open when she approached them, not on their own, but by the hands of a darkly tanned, white haired Asian man dressed in a priest’s smock. “Ah, you’ve finally arrived. Welcome to my humble church,” he said, bowing deeply and stepping aside to let her in.

            Adolpha tried to keep calm. But she could already sense the enmity cooped up in that church, practically oozing out through the doorway. She hesitantly stepped inside, feeling the powerful mana signatures within. Not on the level of Servants, but there was definitely an abundance of first rate magi in there and they were all making their presences known.

            She walked into the center of the chapel, glancing around the pews and pillars, seeing the five others beyond the priest waiting for her. Standing rather than sitting, they all seemed varying degrees of ticked. Wait. Five?

            Ah. There was a pair of bulky, broad-built men, like bodybuilders, dressed in matching white jumpsuits. Both had three dots on their foreheads, one in a straight line, the other’s arranged in a triangle. One had a moustache and short slicked hair, and the other, no facial hair, but lengthy ponytail. Their faces were almost identical, as were their heights. They were, in all likelihood, brothers. That would explain the number of cars only being four. Both seemed far from pleased with her.

            Adolpha turned her head, scanning the rest.

            A redheaded man wearing round red-tinted glasses, his face long and sharp, his eyes barely visible. He stood with a peculiar hunch of back, one hand in his cheap suit pocket, the other dangling at his side. Just a hint of something silvery was underneath his exposed sleeve, piquing her curiosity, but not enough to approach him. The way he was smiling at her made her shiver. He paced back and forth like a caged predator, like he was ready to attack at any moment.

            There was a brown-haired woman wearing regular glasses. Near-sighted, perhaps. Her face was handsome, beautiful even, accentuated with thick eyebrows and shining, full lips. She was in her late 30s, early 40s, looking all the world like a career office lady with her pragmatic pony tail that stretched down her back and her very modest grey dress. Not that it could hide her womanly figure. She frowned at Adolpha, but seemed the least insidious of the present magi.

            Last was a young, grey-haired man who might have been 30 at most, wearing a regular business suit and tie. He seemed very straight-laced, prim and proper, the only one in the room who did not wear his feelings on his face. Of the five, he was surely the most like a magus. And that made Adolpha think of him as the greatest threat there, even if he was the silver spoon type who had never seen a real fight in his life. She was much more afraid of what _concepts_ he might be wielding than whatever experience the others might have had.

            “Now that you are all here, let me go over the situation as it stands now,” the priest said in flawless English, walking up from behind and passing by Adolpha, not even looking at her. English had most likely been agreed upon as the language of choice between all these Masters since most magi learned English in childhood or at the Clock Tower. He went to the front of the chapel and stood at the altar, a fitting place for an agent of the Church. “The final Master is currently in flight over Romania, and I can confirm the Command Spells have appeared for him. This means that all the Masters of Red have been chosen.”

            Adolpha stepped over and sat in a pew, the wood creaking so loudly under her weight that it echoed through the otherwise silent hall. As if she needed any more attention called to her. She chewed on her lip to keep the embarrassed blush from appearing on her face. In that room, at that moment, she needed to stay as unnoticed as possible.

            Father Kotomine cleared his throat, and continued.

            “It will take a little more time for him to arrive, though, so, for the sake of our new arrival, I will make quick introductions. As you no doubt are already aware from my letter, I am Kotomine Shirou, Supervisor of this Holy Grail War.”

            He gestured at the redheaded man. “This is Rottweil Berzinsky, known as the Silver Lizard by reputation.”

            Next he aimed his hand at the older woman. “Gene Rum, the Gale Wheel.”

            Then he pointed at the grey-haired magus. “Mister Feend Vor Sembren, the renowned instructor of the Clock Tower.”

            Lastly, he gestured towards the two brothers. “Deimlet and Cabik Pentel, otherwise known as the Gum Brothers. I presume by now you recognize some of these names and realize the gravity of this situation.”

            Adolpha fidgeted with her hands, glancing around the room. “Well… I know of the Clock Tower.”

            She was sure she heard at least five audible noises of some sort all at once. A click of a tongue, a stamp of a foot, a sharp intake of air, a cracking knuckle, and a snort. Together, it sounded like one big chord of exasperation.

            Even the priest seemed taken aback by her answer, but quickly recovered. “It is no matter. What you need to know is that every one of these people is dangerous. The best in their field, and their field is battle. The same is true of the fellow who is arriving in an hour or two. This is the company you will have to keep… if you choose to remain a Master in this Holy Grail War.”

            Adolpha swallowed nervously. But she already expected an entourage of frightening figures like this based on what the letter hinted. “Should I offer my own name?”

            Kotomine shook his head. “Only if you intend to continue as a Master. Otherwise, it is for the best that we do not know who you are.”

            “Enough of this!” Deimlet Pentel, the older mustachioed brother, yelled, stomping on the floor to emphasize his frustration. “Stop pretending this dimwitted little girl has any choice in the matter, Supervisor! Those command spells belong to me!”

            His yell echoed and faded until the cathedral sat silent again, and only then did the tanned priest speak his response with the same slight smile as he always wore.

            “I am not pretending. Regardless of what you may have thought I was doing, the offer I made her is as real as my faith in God. She has the right to participate if the Grail has chosen her,” Kotomine Shirou said, calm as the blue sky.

            “This has nothing to do with what the Grail wants! The Association hired me! I took a contract along with my brother to act as a Master in this war! I will not get paid if I do not fulfill my end of the bargain!” Deimlet shouted, a vein bulging on his forehead.

            “Ah. Is it impossible to renegotiate the contract?” Kotomine asked.

            “The Gum Brothers never back out of a deal!” Cabik, the younger, replied. “The girl should not have been allowed into the country in the first place. I thought the Church and the Association had ensured no other potential Masters could have set foot in Romania!”

            “As you can see, even the tightest security is never foolproof. The party responsible for letting her in has already been taken for questioning by the Association. That is all I have heard regarding the matter,” the priest explained. “Still, it is best not to concern oneself with what should or should not have happened, only what has happened.”

            “Wait, hold on, something doesn’t make sense,” Adolpha said. “Doesn’t a Grail War usually have around seven Masters? I know Subcategory Wars can vary, but why do you say all the Masters have been chosen when only six are accounted for if you include the one still on his way here? Shouldn’t Mr. Pentel be automatically chosen as the seventh Master in that case?”

            The priest smiled a little wider. “No, all seven Masters have been accounted for. I apologize; I was not clear earlier. I am the first Master of Red for this war.”

            “What? A Supervisor can’t be a Master!” Adolpha said in shock.

            “I can, if the circumstances call for it. There is more going on here than you know. But I take your curiosity to mean you would rather accept your role as Master here than leave.”

            “I never said that,” Adolpha said. “I just need more information before I can make a clear decision. I did not exactly ask to be put in this weird war. It’s the least you can do.”

            “Indeed. I understand your wishes perfectly. I—” Kotomine began, only to be cut off by even angrier yelling from the elder Gum Brother.

            “Don’t bother telling her anything when those spells are mine by contract and by right!” Deimlet said.

            Something in Adolpha began to snap.

            “So annoying,” Rottweil groaned from the other side of the room. “Stop yelling before I gut you. You’re not a Master, so it’s not in my contract that I have to keep you alive.”

            “You’re barking at the wrong brothers, Lizard,” Cabik said.

            “Are you going to break the cooperation contract? Oh, please do. Then I wouldn’t have to keep either of you alive. Let’s see which of us walks out of here!” Rottweil cackled like a demon, his fingers twisting as thin blue lines – his magic circuits – began to glow on his face like veins.

            “Lizard! We are all professionals. Act like one,” Gene growled, losing her patience.

            “Oh, you want some too? Fine. Come on, swing first. I won’t be penalized if you start it. Here, take your best shot,” Rottweil giggled, leaning in towards her and pointing his finger right at his long chin.

            “Not all of us here are professionals,” Sembren muttered under his breath, glancing at Adolpha. But nobody paid him much attention, and he was likely fine with that. Nobody except for the girl who clenched her fists and stared at the pew in front of her.

            “Please, everyone, calm down. If we are infighting like this already, we will stand no chance against the united Black team,” Father Kotomine said, raising a hand to halt the growing hostilities. All the magi in the room fell silent and paid him due attention, excluding Adolpha who was occupied in her own thoughts.

 

 

            Why had she not just given up her spells and gone on her way? What was keeping her there? She was inviting nothing but trouble. Yet, she could not summon the words from her throat to give up her role in the war. She felt almost afraid, as though walking away could cost her something much more precious than her life.

            If her suspicions were correct regarding the Grail in play here, she wanted nothing to do with it. It was too big, too important. To use it, she would have to fight off pretty much every magus out there who had a wish of their own. This went far, far beyond the scope of just a Subcategory Holy Grail War where success was by no means guaranteed when asking for a wish, and where even a success could produce a pathetic result.

            But using an imitation Grail would be easy, even trivial compared to this. And her wish was not extreme. It should not require the power to reach the Root to accomplish it. It would only need a small miracle, which most of the fake Grails out there could do. There was one in Siberia just waiting for her, a small war with small stakes and a small reward. A controlled risk, a risk she was prepared for.

            But she still could not muster her voice to throw it all away.

            She was just a girl. This was all so far beyond her. She could not even begin to imagine how dangerous a war of this scale would be. How simple it would be to die.

            She thought of that Servant who had appeared in her car. Despite being a spirit, that dark woman felt completely real to the touch. She smelled completely real, sweeter than the sweetest rose. The rage she showed Adolpha, the dangerous looks she gave, the implicit understanding that Adolpha felt of her own mortality when faced with a being thousands of times older and superior to herself.

            That children’s movie in that cinema in Vienna.

            The last thing she said to her mother.

            Something she could not grasp was taunting her, belittling her.

            She was surrounded by deadly men and women who would kill her in a second if she stood up to them.

            She had marched right into the viper’s den, and she did not even know why.

            But now that she was here, all the fear felt like it belonged to someone else. Like it was from an old, half-remembered dream.

            Why was she persisting?

            She kept asking herself that question over and over, praying for an answer that she had not arrived at yet.

            Perhaps she had just overlooked the truth. Disregarded it.

            That arrogant voice. That ugly face. His presumptuous sneer.

            Could it really be so simple?

            Yeah. Maybe it could.

            Maybe she just really hated the attitude of Deimlet Pentel.

 

 

             “The most important order of business here is to prepare a plan of action. This does not require that we like each other, but all of your contracts will go unfulfilled if we fracture and fail.”

            Adolpha stood up, and she became keenly aware of all the eyes of the room focusing in on her, most especially Deimlet, who glared at her as if to cow her or kill her with his sheer malice.

            “Do you have further questions?” the priest asked.

            “No. I have a pretty good idea of what’s happening, now. The Mage Association and the Holy Church have united against someone. That means this is the gravest of matters. Two teams of seven Masters, which means fourteen Servants. There is only one Grail that has a function like that in the world. There is also only one Grail in the world that chooses its participants with a sophisticated process that examines not only their skill as a mage, but their willingness to fight and the strength of their wish even if that magus does not know they have one. There may be imitation Grails somewhere out there that possess one of these qualities, though I doubt it. But to have both rules out any doubt – this war is not for any mere fake. This is a war over the Fuyuki Great Grail, isn’t it?”

            Silence set in, a cold and bitter silence in which she could only guess what every mage there felt. But none of them let any emotions show on their faces. Rather, they all stayed completely still and passive, as if re-evaluating their judgment of her. That’s right. She was no longer just some girl out of her league.

            “I could lie and say that you are wrong, but there is no point,” Father Kotomine chuckled, clearly deeply amused by her deduction. “It was meant to remain secret, and all known channels of information have been sealed regarding the heretical declarations of the Yggdramillenia clan. However, even so, most magi are already aware of the Yggdramillenia Clan seceding from the Association, and of the wide-scale ban on travel in or out of Romania. It is only a matter of time until the pieces are put together regarding why. Everything you’ve said is easily researchable knowledge. What is surprising, however, is how quickly you discovered this.”

            “My name is Adolpha von Elfbern,” she said. Unsurprisingly, not one of the individuals in that room showed any recognition of her family. Or so she thought.

            “Elfbern? Hm. Elfbern,” Sembren repeated, tapping his temple thoughtfully. “Is that not the name of the family of Tuners serving the Einzberns? What are you doing here?”

            “I am here to win the Holy Grail War and take my wish upon the Grail.” Adolpha boldly declared her intentions while staring directly at Deimlet, locking eyes with him.

            “Whaaat?” Deimlet yelled, drawing out the word in a long crescendo of condescending outrage. “You’re out of your league, little girl. This war is not for children!”

            “War does not discriminate,” Adolpha said. “Nor do magi. I’m sure everyone in here except the priest has already considered multiple ways of killing me if I try anything.”

            Deimlet fell silent, but he shook with barely restrained anger, fuming.

            “Ohhh?” Father Kotomine murmured. “I am a Master in this Grail War, and an Executor of the Church as well. Are you certain I have not already undertaken preparations to kill you?”

            “Yes. Because you would not have to lift a finger to kill everyone in this room. You have a Servant who could do that before any of us even blink,” Adolpha announced.

            “What?” Gene Rum gasped.

            “Is this true, Kotomine?” Rottweil asked with utter severity, his fun-and-games façade entirely gone.

            “Heh. Again, I could deny the claim, but… this saves me the trouble of bringing it up myself later on. Yes, I have already summoned my Servant. She is in this very room.”

            In response to his words, the raven-haired beauty materialized right beside him, calmly regarding every magus in the room. She gave Adolpha a particularly meaningful stare with a cold and distant expression.

            “And when were you planning on informing us of this? You were the one who made us all agree to summon our Servants simultaneously,” Sembren asked, crossing his arms. “That’s Assassin, isn’t it?”

            It was an easy deduction to make once you realized she had been there the whole time and not one of these professionals had been able to detect her, Adolpha noted mentally.

            “To answer your second question first, yes. This is Assassin of Red,” Father Kotomine said with a nod.

            “This leads into the answer for your first query. I summoned her before the decided time because the Black team has already summoned Lancer and Caster according to the Spirit Board, and there was a need to provide basic surveillance and defensive measures for our meeting here. Assassin has been sweeping Sighisoara using a massive network of familiars to root out any Yggdramillenia spies, and has detected and neutralized over twenty so far. She has also sent familiars to Trifas to examine the Yggdramillenia base of operations and test their defenses.”

            “That is all well and good, but you have been waxing a little too poetic about trust here,” Cabik Pentel said. “You have yet to show us an ounce of it.”

            “On the contrary. I trust you all enough to bring you into the house of God and expect you to behave,” the white-haired priest said, brushing his wild locks aside. “Do you not feel safer with a Servant here to guard you in case an enemy Servant were to strike?”

            “Yeah, maybe if it was a Saber or Lancer,” Rottweil grumbled. “Can’t trust an Assassin.”

            “I have to echo the sentiment,” Sembren admitted.

            “An Assassin is fine,” Adolpha said, brushing the subject off to get to more important matters. “What are the Yggdramillenia’s defenses?” she asked, directing the question not to the priest, but Assassin of Red.

            The Servant lifted her head a little, looking down from the pastoral platform as she ran fingers down one of her long locks of shiny black hair sensually. “Their fortress near Trifas is certainly as one would expect of the headquarters of an entire clan of magi. In terms of both physical and magical fortifications, that castle would stand up even to an army of magi and anything short of an Anti-Fortress Noble Phantasm.”

            “And Trifas?”

            Assassin smiled darkly. “I would not suggest going there for idle tourism lest you wish your own demise. It is infested with traps and agents of Yggdramillenia.”

            All the Masters took in that information in silence.

            “Do we have an account of the enemy numbers in the town and in the fortress?” Gene Rum asked.

            “No. My familiars are unable to enter the fortress and determine who lies within due to the bounded fields against intruders. As for the town, patrols of homunculi are sent out regularly at night during curfew. Each patrol varies from ten to thirty strong, and there are sometimes as many as six patrols in Trifas conducting their duties. At day, only enemy familiars are active, but they number in the hundreds. I can safely say that you would not escape their gaze should you step foot in that town.”

            “Tch,” Rottweil clicked his tongue. “Sounds like a job for you, Assassin.”

            The beautiful woman seemed amused by his words. “Indeed. Such paltry measures are nothing to me. However, I am of much more use coordinating my networks of familiars and providing wide-scale surveillance of the town, the castle, and all the surrounding countryside.”

            The priest beside her nodded. “Agreed. We should keep Assassin as a hidden trump card and not risk revealing her presence until the enemy lowers their guard. To that end, a Lancer or an Archer may serve more effectively for the purposes of scouting.”

            “It seems we should summon our Servants so that we know the full extent of our own forces and may begin planning properly,” Adolpha said, scratching at her hair. She heard someone walking, and turned and saw Deimlet stomping up to her. She backed away from him until she bumped into a pew, shaking her head. “What is your problem?”

            “Problem? You! You are my problem! How dare you walk in here with my command spells and take my place as Master! How dare you start acting like a Master! Enough games! I’m out of patience, waiting for you to realize you’re in over your head!” the broad-shouldered man yelled, grabbing her by the wrist tightly and refusing to let go.

            Father Kotomine cleared his throat. “Deimlet Pentel.”

            The elder Gum Brother froze, glaring up at the priest. “Don’t you dare interfere! This is a dispute between two magi! My contract says those spells are mine, not hers!”

            “This is no dispute between magi. This is a Master of Red being assaulted by an allied magus. I will permit no such thing in my church,” Shirou said sternly. He turned to Assassin, who began to walk down the steps towards Deimlet.

            “Hold on! You and the others seem to have simply accepted her as a Master like cattle! But I am a renowned and feared combat specialist! This girl has no reputation, she’s from a third-rate lineage, there’s no proof she can fight!” Deimlet shouted, turning his gaze to every single one of the Masters of Red, knowing full well that none of them could refute his point. “I also have a catalyst of the highest level prepared! She came here with nothing! Do any of you want to risk your lives with this whelp as a comrade?! She would only be a burden!”

            “Hmm,” Kotomine grunted, and Assassin stopped her approach. “You speak truth.”

            “What? I have catalysts!” Adolpha said. “I have plenty to choose from, in fact! They’re in my truck!”

            “Is that so? Catalysts for which Heroic Spirit?” Kotomine asked.

            Adolpha gulped silently.

            Of the relics she had stolen, she had of course checked to whom they belonged.

            One was a lock of preserved hair of the great and mighty conquerer, the Pharaoh Thutmose III. He would surely be an ideal Rider or Saber.

            There was also the scabbard that had once held the invincible sword Durandal, sure to summon the greatest of Charlemagne’s paladins, an easy choice for Saber, Rider, or Berserker.

            Another happened to be a splinter from the razed Shaolin Temple of the Five Elders, capable of summoning any one of those five matchless martial artists from Pai Mei to Ng Mui who knew no peers in their era except each other. Each of the five would make for fine Lancers, Assassins, or Berserkers. Unfortunately, the Assassin class had already been occupied, but that did not diminish their potential strength in the other available classes.

            And one was actually a scrap from an ancient scroll written by Confucius, the greatest philosopher of ancient China. Most likely, a mighty Caster whose mastery of Tao magecraft would be second to none.

            There was also an ancient slab of stone taken from a temple to a great hero, but she had long since decided she would not use that catalyst, for the spirit it summoned was beyond her means to support or control.

            “I intend to summon one of the Five Elders of the Shaolin Temple,” Adolpha announced, wrenching her arm free from Deimlet’s grasp and putting some distance between herself and him. 

            “Ah, an elite martial artist, then. A practical and efficient choice in a war between Servants,” Father Kotomine said with a nod. “One who sought to break the boundaries of human strength and skill would quickly prove themselves invaluable to our team.”

            “It means nothing if she cannot hold her own in a battle and she gets herself bloody killed,” Cabik Pentel said, backing up his older brother.

            “I am a magus. I know how to defend myself,” Adolpha said.

            “Defend yourself? This is a war, girl. You had better be resolved to kill or be killed or you’re just meat,” Deimlet growled.

            “This is getting very tiresome,” Sembren muttered, a sentiment seemingly shared by all the Masters not of the Pentel line. “Father Kotomine, as Supervisor, you should arbitrate this dispute.”

            “I agree. Adolpha von Elfbern, how are we to judge your talent against his? I believe the solution is simple. You and he shall duel, and the winner will be the Master,” Kotomine said. “Does anyone object?”

            “I object, the Grail chose me! Not him!” Adolpha yelled.

            “Does anyone else object?”

            The rest of the Masters remained silent. Adolpha groaned, looking at each of them, but not a single one raised their voice in her defense. Not one of them was willing to trust her. She could not exactly blame them for it, but she did not have to be happy about it either.

            “Then, if you wish to remain a Master of Red, you must prove your worth as an ally, Adolpha von Elfbern,” Kotomine chuckled, raising a hand. “Everyone stand aside. You two, stand ten paces from each other and wait for my signal. This is not a battle to the death, but a battle of judgment. I will end the duel at any point if I believe we have witnessed the extent of one or both of your abilities.”

            “Kick her ass, bro,” Cabik Pentel said, showing the girl the middle finger.

            The priest held up his hand to silence him before continuing. “However, the sanctity of this duel must be respected. Assassin will watch for interference from outsiders and punish them accordingly. And she is not merciful.”

            Adolpha glanced at the almost divinely beautiful Assassin, who glared back at her coldly. She took a look at all the other Masters who wore the same detached expression as they spread out to the far walls to clear as much space as possible for the duel, except for Cabik, who sneered with oozing confidence in his brother’s victory. Lastly, she gazed upon the grimly serious man standing exactly ten paces away from her between the pews, sensing him beginning to prepare the processed mana in his circuits for some spell or another.

            The atmosphere was so dense, she could almost taste her own anxiety just as she could almost taste the waves of mana emanating from Deimlet. But she forced herself to remain calm.

            She examined their positions. Deimlet was closer to the pastor’s podium, a much more open part of the church, almost like a stage where all the clergy would stand and sing and preach. This meant he had considerable room to move around in if he chose to retreat just a few steps, which would make cornering him difficult. If he was half as skilled as everyone seemed to believe he was, then letting him flee to that high ground could decide the match.

            On the other hand, she was ten paces closer to the doors leading out of the cathedral into very open grounds, but had far less space available to maneuver within the church due to the pews stretching on both sides of her. Escaping outside would be advantageous, but she would leave herself exposed to attack if she attempted to open the doors while he was on her heels.

            Adolpha glanced down. The red carpet that lay beneath both her and her opponent’s feet, stretching from the shrine to the doors, did not appear to be nailed to the floor.

            She looked up at the stained glass windows. Though they were high, far too high for a normal person to reach, they were not high enough to impede her if she leapt for them. Yes, those windows would be a perfect way to escape. Behind her, there was a high balcony that overlooked the entire church, upon which was a grand organ. Reaching it was also feasible for her. Perhaps her position was not as disadvantageous as she initially thought.

            She returned her gaze to Deimlet, who, to her surprise, had not even looked around at all to get his bearings of the soon-to-be-battlefield. Was he really a professional, or was he just overconfident?

            Adolpha forced her muscles to relax instead of tensing with anticipation. The signal from the priest would be coming at any second, and she needed to be ready. She had to make the first move, be faster than that bastard, so quick that she could start and end the duel before he had the time to cast his first spell. The one who seized the initiative would win the day – there were few pieces of wisdom as ancient and precious as that in battle.

            “Begin!” Kotomine Shirou shouted, throwing out his hand, and Adolpha sprang.

 

 

            She lunged right at Deimlet, running through the four-verse long incantation for a petrifying curse by saying multiple verses of the incantation simultaneously – a mana-enhanced technique of the mouth called High Speed Incantation.

            It was a common enough curse that he surely would recognize it and attempt to retreat, given he had lost the initiative and if her hand touched him, at least one of his limbs would be turned to stone instantly and the effect could spread depending on his ability to counteract it or lack thereof.

            And when he tried to run, she would grab the carpet, reinforce all her muscles at once, yank it out from under him, and leave him prone and helpless.

            But——————

            Deimlet did not withdraw. He did not even move. He just stood there and grinned smugly at her as he cast a spell, and a white-ish yellow glob of ether appeared in his hand, a common side effect of failed spells. Though, the color was all wrong.

            Oh. I’ve fucked up, Adolpha thought.

            That was no failed spell.

            Her circuits did not produce the mana she was trying to draw out of them for the spell. It was as if they were empty – no, what should have been going into the spell was being _taken away_ faster than she could use it.

            Adolpha looked at her hand, and she saw a pale yellow strand of something gooey stretching from her wrist to the ground. The girl skid to a stop in her tracks, eyes widening in terror. She grabbed at it and tried to rip it away, but the substance was stretchy, sticky, doughy, and yet strong and resistant to all her strength.

            “It’s a shame. You are quick on your feet, girl,” Deimlet said, stroking his moustache proudly. “And you were wise to examine your surroundings so thoroughly. But you should have paid more attention to yourself.”

            “What the hell is this?!” Adolpha yelled. “You—” she said, freezing.

            Of course.

            He had grabbed her by the wrist.

            He must have laid a trap for her right then and there, expecting this to turn to a duel sooner or later.

            “—cheater! You attacked me before the match began!” Adolpha screamed, struggling to back away, but the substance wrapped around her did not give her any slack to retreat.

            “This is a war we’re in, girl. Are you going to call the enemy cheaters as well when they ambush you? Are you going to call for the referee when they’ve got a knife to your throat? This is no friendly game.”

            Adolpha’s cheeks burned a vivid red with shame, afraid to look at any of the other Masters there. She could not break the substance, and she was trapped and her mana was being depleted even faster the more she tried to use it to cast something. She had only made herself look pathetic. It wasn’t fair. She lost so quickly. She wanted to cry.

            “This is the difference between a pro and an amateur. You were planning for a fight. I ensured there would not be one in the first place. No one can escape my Ether Gum. You feel it, don’t you? Draining you of all your mana. It’s time to give up,” Deimlet said.

            Adolpha kicked the mass with her boot, but all that force made the strand go taut, and it did not loosen back to its former length. It pulled her wrist down to the ground, then it shrank more, dragging her on her back along the carpet to Deimlet’s feet, who was still holding onto the glob of the mysterious gunk in his hand, occasionally pouring a unit or two of mana into it. It had tightened around her wrist so much that she could not feel her hand anymore.

            “It’s over. Give it up. The more mana you expend, the more it absorbs, making it contract and become even stronger. Only a first-rate magus would have enough mana to cast something while snared in my gum, and even then it would drain them half dry just to cast something powerful enough to break free,” Deimlet Pentel laughed. “If you don’t surrender soon and keep fighting it, you might be drained of your very life force.”

            “Hrrrg,” Adolpha groaned in agony. Her wrist was burning with pain at the constriction. She felt weak, and more than half of her mana had already vanished, carried away by the Ether Gum before she could gather any to cast a spell. The only thing that preserved her mana was not using or circulating it, but without mana, there was no way she could break the gum. If she had a Mystic Code of some sort, like spells stored in gems, it might have been possible to put up a fight still.

            But she had no such convenient thing.

            Her Magic Crest had no knowledge to save her.

            She was utterly, unbearably helpless.

            She had no choice.

 

 

            It was beneath any true magus to wield a firearm in a proper duel, but she had no shame left in her.

            All she felt was the animal desire to escape, and survive, and win.

            Adolpha reached under herself and dragged the 6P9 out of her coat pocket, aiming it directly up at Deimlet’s face.

            A flash of recognition and surprise appeared only an instant before the muzzle of the silenced pistol flared with burning gunpowder and hot pressure. A spinning bullet made of lead should have penetrated the soft flesh under his chin and exited through the top of his skull, an instantly murderous shot.

            Only, in a fraction of a second, he leaned back, and the bullet crashed into the ceiling of the cathedral, dropping a small spray of dust.

            “You—” he gasped, attempting to say something while Adolpha fired a second shot at his face, but he moved the glob of Ether Gum just before she fired and caught the bullet directly in the thick mass, catching it safely like a massively padded bulletproof glove and shielding his face from any further shots. “—stupid girl!”

            Adolpha grit her teeth and immediately pressed the muzzle of the gun into his leg, pulling the trigger to shoot his calf at point blank. The pistol kicked in her hand, but the bullet that came out did not shed any blood. It was stopped by something impossibly strong. Naturally, the fabric of his pants had been reinforced to be bulletproof by Ether Gum. However, Deimlet still let out an agonized groan and stumbled from the sheer force of the bullet to his leg. But———

            “It’s useless!” he yelled. “Shoot any part of me and you’ll leave only a bruise.” His boot rose up and slammed down into Adolpha’s gut, stomping the wind right out of her lungs.

            Adolpha gasped for air, but his heel twisted and pressed down harder on her diaphragm, sparing her no chance to breathe. He weighed more than twice she did. Even if she had the oxygen to move at her best, in that position, unable to apply any leverage, pinned at her center of gravity, she likely could not have shifted his boot an inch.

            She aimed her pistol up at him, but he was absolutely right. No matter how many times she shot him, she’d just annoy him. Damn him.

            The leather heel dug even deeper under her fucking ribs, and she howled in agony.

            “Give up!”

            She did not wish to do what came next.

            But if an animal was caught in a trap, it would gnaw its leg off to survive for just a little while longer.

            If he wanted her arm…

            He could have it.

           

           

            Adolpha slammed the snout of the silencer directly into her elbow, bending her arm around it so that the force of the shot would have nowhere to go but forward. She pulled the trigger.

            She did not really feel it at first. But she heard the echoing noise, and she felt flecks of blood splatter across her face. She pulled the trigger again while she still felt strong enough to do so. There was a second spray of red, some getting into her eye and blinding her, and this time the pain came much more quickly. It was a pain so great that even her body did not know how to express it at first. It slowly grew from a light ache until everything on her arm boiled and turned into nausea and she felt so sick everything was light and she felt nothing anymore

            The only way she managed to stop from passing out was pulling the trigger again. That jolt of agony burning down her arm was intense enough to rip her right back to earth from the clouds, and she looked at her arm. It was bent completely the wrong way now, because the entire joint at the elbow had been blown out, and the arm was only still together by muscle fibers.

            She didn’t think about it. There was no time to think. She fired two more times, blasting the muscles apart, leaving only a few strands left connecting the two halves of her arm. She really needed to vomit.

            Her entire body hurt so badly that she was sure she would die, she did not know if she could go the rest of the way, she pulled the trigger but no more bullets came. Adolpha threw the handgun away and screamed, though really, she had been screaming like a lunatic since the first shot, and she just hadn’t noticed.

            The last few strings of pink flesh holding her arm together were quite easily parted with just a bit of effort. It didn’t hurt at all———just the feeling of the fibers snapping and slapping back into her red, bleeding stump was all. Like ripping rubber bands apart.

            He was shielding his face, so he did not really see or realize what she was doing. He must have thought she was just throwing a tantrum and shooting wildly. It was all the other Masters who made sounds of shock, little quiet breaths of disgust, or impressed chuckles. But Deimlet could not hear them over the barks of the pistol and the girl’s bestial yelling.

            That was why he didn’t expect a hand to grab his ankle and a spell to pour into his leg. Ether Gum could absorb raw mana, but spells were established effects, not mana. The instant he sensed the change in the air, the traces of processed mana seeping into the air, he was already yanking his leg back, but it did not obey his commands, and he stumbled back into one of the pews, glaring down at the leg that had petrified halfway up the thigh.

            “Wha-what the hell!?” Deimlet yelled.

            He immediately cast a petrification counterspell to cancel the spread of the curse, then another spell to return his leg to normal, burning through vast amounts of mana all at once to do so instantly, though his leg would be stuck limp for some time before it regained its full functions.

            And then he looked at the arm he had caught in his Ether Gum, which was now nothing more than a severed forearm with scraps of meat dangling from it and dripping with red onto the expensive carpet.

            “What the fuuuck!” he screamed.

            Adolpha was already to the doors of the church by the time Deimlet had recovered his leg enough to limp after her, and he came storming at her with dozens of Italian cursewords pouring from his mouth.

            But she had already thrown the doors open and went staggering down the path, holding the profusely bleeding stump of her arm.

            The shock of the wound was already trying to shut down her head and body, but she cast a quick spell specifically to force her body to stay fully active beyond its own limits, and another spell to dull the pain.

            Neither helped much, not in the face of such overwhelming, excruciating agony, but she had no choice but to press on. The bloodloss was severe, already her legs were numb and her mind was fading fast. She knew plenty of healing magic, since it was part and parcel with alchemy. However, staunching the blood flow was not an option.

            She needed that blood to pour.

            Adolpha forced her failing body to move faster as she heard the rapidly approaching Deimlet by his frantic cussing. She was nearly there.

            She passed all five cars on the way to her truck, and just as she stumbled right into it and wrapped an arm over the side of the trailer to prop herself up, she managed to spit out the incantation for a spell of arrangement, using mana to fill in the gaps of materials, just as a magus looking for a shortcut in a ritual would do.

            All she needed to do was grab one of the catalysts. She reached for the nearest one, the lock of hair kept in a small wooden box – but before she could grab it, something slammed into the underside of her truck and wrapped the whole vehicle around it.

            Her eyes widened at the sight of the massive vertical pillar of Ether Gum that had erupted underneath her truck and ripped the whole thing in two, cab and trailer.

            Metal and glass scattered across the asphalt as the sheer power of the attack sent Adolpha tumbling down onto her back hard enough to knock her skull on the ground. Everything went white. The contents of the trailer were spread across the parking lot, tarps tearing to shreds and wood splintering.

            Something massive and heavy crashed onto the ground beside her, grinding over the asphalt like rock against rock.

           She had no strength left, and could not see or hear anything. All she could do was reach her hand out blindly, trying to find one of the catalysts, if any were still intact. Her hand touched something hard and cold, yet smooth, and Adolpha let out a dying sigh of despair. A piece of the truck was of no use to her. Not that she could say anything aloud in the state she was in, regardless. So much for summoning a Servant.

            But———————

            She really did want to live.

            She was vaguely aware of a presence. Was it her father?

            Ah.

            _I wish you were here, daddy_ , she thought. _I’m so cold. I’m so lonely. And it hurts so much._

            And then she faded away.


	2. The Scent of a Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Great Holy Grail War begins the only way it should: with instantaneous in-fighting and mayhem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Housekeeping: While I personally prefer it the old way, Jean Rum's name has been retroactively and from this point on changed to Gene, on account of the visual similarity to to the name Jeanne, who is a very different character. Oops.

            Before she felt anything else, before she could form a single coherent thought, Adolpha felt the inferno in her arm. She drifted in and out of restless sleep, unable to move at all without re-igniting the pain streaking up her arm. And with it came a dream, a flicker of somewhere else that was both familiar and utterly alien.

            She saw a battlefield, a war fought over something so petty that none could recall why it began. Corpses littered the blood-soaked mud, and a crimson sun set over the horizon. The gods themselves cried and mourned the dead in deafening wails from the sky and from the underworld, bemoaning the evils that men visit upon each other. She stood on a hill of broken soldiers, holding a sword in one hand, and her helmet in the other, alive, but lifeless.

            She saw the fists of the pugilist an instant before they collided with her skull, knocking her senseless. She took punch after punch after punch, from directions she could not block, angles that should have been impossible, feeling each jolt rip away her concentration, her ability to think and plan and attempt to counter. She was beaten bloody, her rib broke under his calloused knuckles, then her tooth was knocked right out and flew across the road.

            She saw herself marching through the wilderness alongside fur-clad warriors, foraging for food as she starved, drinking the warm blood of a snow hare to warm her body as she climbed a merciless mountain, swimming across a lake several leagues across with her axe in hand. She saw the arrow fly through her ankle, and she saw herself being carried by her brothers to safety.

            There was something there, in all those dreams, something connecting them, a pressure that almost felt like it was slipping into her head like water dripping through a crack in a lid of a jar only it smelled like fresh blood and it smelled so good and familiar like home lovely good

 

            “A-g-ugh,” Adolpha groaned, grabbing her aching head with both hands as she sat up and coughed like a smoker for quite a while. Only when she managed to stop the almost retching coughs did she finally open her eyes, wincing as she looked around at the white room, white sheets, white bed, dark woman sitting beside her. When she realized who it was, she immediately scooted back against the wall, pulling her sheets up around her naked body to try to hide her vulnerability.

            “My, such nightmares you have,” Assassin of Red said with a sinister smile. Then again, any sort of expression she wore seemed automatically sinister just by nature of her elfin and ethereal appearance.

            She had, in her lap of crossed legs, a book of some sort, which Adolpha recognized by the Italian scrawled across its black cover. Inferno, by Dante Alighieri. Her fingers held the book almost daintily, a requirement to avoid damaging it by the golden spikes that were embedded in her hands.

            The brunette tilted her head in confusion, scratching at her neck with a hand, then looked down when she felt the pain of just touching her own skin and realized.

            “Oh, my arm’s back on,” Adolpha said, lifting it up and wincing at the sharp stinging like knives ripping through her elbow. But her hand and fingers and joints all worked, as she proved by balling her fingers into a fist and opening them up again. All her muscles felt intact, as though they had been put back together fiber by fiber and blood vessel by blood vessel. There was not even a visible scar, though clearly some damage remained to her nerves.

            The girl could not help but feel intense awe at the skill that had been put to work on her. It was possible to reattach severed limbs, but to restore it as though it had never been damaged in the first place? That was unheard of by the standards of both modern medicine and modern magecraft. It was truly something that only a magus from the Age of Gods could possibly accomplish.

            “Really, it was such a chore to heal. Couldn’t you have severed your limb in a cleaner way? That barbaric weapon ripped everything to shreds,” Assassin complained as she watched Adolpha’s reactions closely. Was it out of concern as a healer, or out of mistrust and disgust?

            “Ow-ow-ow-owh,” Adolpha moaned when she tried to bend her arm behind her back, putting her restored elbow through a serious test.

            “You _fool_. Of course it will hurt if you play around with it like that,” Assassin hissed in frustration. “The damage to your nerves was the most severe I’ve ever seen thanks to your idiotic maneuver. It will take days for the spells to finish repairing the nerves, but they will do so as long as you do not injure your arm again in that time.”

            “I-I see, sorry,” Adolpha said, pulling her arm back into a more normal position. It was a shame, as her left was her dominant hand. She would need to avoid using it too much and risking further injury. “Thank you for… taking care of me. I am surprised, though. It’s unusual for any class other than Caster to display this level of proficiency in magecraft.”

            “I am no ordinary Assassin, and that is all you need to know, wench,” Assassin said with a disdainful glare.

            “Wench?” Adolpha asked, confused.

            “Certainly, you have proven undeserving of so innocent a name as ‘girl,’ wouldn’t you agree?” the breathtaking beauty asked with one eye shut and one eye open as she ran a hand through her hair, the golden spike parting the lock in beautiful black waves. The way she talked about it, it sounded like Adolpha had suffered a demotion of rank. The way she spat out the word wench was much more scornful than the way she said ‘girl.’ But…

            It somehow still felt warm in her chest to know she had graduated from a child to an adult in that haughty woman’s estimation.

            “I see. Yeah, I suppose so. I am a magus, after all.”

            The raven-haired woman chortled in amusement at her words, as if they were ridiculous and deserved to be mocked. “Hardly. A true magus would not have been caught by so simplistic a trap. Ether Gum, did he call it? And you did not notice the wad of it he left on your cuff when he touched you? Fool of a wench.”

            “Is that what he did? _Verdammt_. I was sloppy,” Adolpha sighed, idly playing with her left hand. It felt fine, but there was a strange feeling that she could not shake, like it did not belong to her anymore. “Such a small error, with such terrible consequences. I tried so hard to defend my own pride, but… it all led to nothing. Though, maybe this is for the best. This war was too big for me anyways.”

            “What are you talking about?” Assassin asked, plain-faced.

            “I must again thank you for healing me. It was not necessary to do such a thing for the loser of the duel.”

            Assassin’s eye twitched, and her lips twisted into something akin to frustration and anger. “You prove yourself a greater and greater idiot with every passing sentence.”

            “What?” Adolpha said, shaking her head. “Of course I lost. Mr. Pentel kicked my ass.”

            Assassin seemed like her rage was about to boil over, but suddenly she burst into laughter, harsh, mocking. “Hahaha! So you did not even stay awake long enough to see it! Such an ignoble victory, as befitting that bastard after his big talk! The victor herself does not know she won! Ah, but that is indeed much like war.”

            “Huh?” the girl asked.

            “Dress yourself, wench. There is something you need to see,” the Servant said, standing up and setting her book aside. She gestured to the neatly folded apparel sitting on the desk of the room, then dematerialized away. “Go to the parking lot,” her voice said, lingering on, almost like a divine command, in her head.

            Adolpha climbed out of bed reluctantly, still feeling quite exhausted, but she was curious now. What exactly had happened? Her long-sleeve shirt and her leather greatcoat had been repaired… but it did not seem to have been done using magecraft, which would have left no seams. They had been fixed by dutiful hands.

            “There’s no way… right?” Adolpha asked nobody in particular.

 

            When Adolpha made her way down the long hallways of the dormitory area of the cathedral, found the front entrance, and pushed open the doors, she froze in instantaneous surprise. She burst into a trot, jogging over to what remained of her truck, which was still ripped apart into two pieces on the pavement and an absolute mess. But that was not what had caught her attention.

            She could not even believe it, but yet, she had to. It was standing right there.

            Towering like a giant over her, more than eight feet tall, an immense man rippling with muscle, grey-skinned, with long, wild, black hair hanging from his scalp that blew lightly in the breeze. Pure magical energy exuded from his flesh, mana so strong that Adolpha had never felt anything like it before in her entire life, except from Assassin. He had wrapped his giant fist around another man’s head———Deimlet’s head, she realized after coming near enough.

            “M-Mr. Pentel?” Adolpha asked, trembling with fear. The mage was still standing there, but he was not moving at all. Was he alright?

            “Mrprhh rhphh mphhf wpfhfh!” Deimlet shouted, immediately reaching up to grab the hand that had trapped his skull in place. The Servant did not move an inch, seemingly content just to imprison this mage.

            That only served to infuriate Deimlet further, as he beat his fists on the Servant’s hand. She felt his circuits crackle with power as he reinforced his entire body all at once and attempted to pry the hand away, but all his strength which could have bent steel was as nothing to the sheer power of the Servant’s fingers.

            Adolpha glanced up at the giant in awe, seeing one eye glowing yellow, and the other a deep, blood red. He had not reacted at all to her approach, but she could not hide the fear she felt. She remembered the right that all Masters had to observe the parameters of a Servant, and she focused her gaze on him, opening the grimoire in her mind that she could suddenly just imagine. In it she witnessed trees – a tree for each aspect of the Servant, varying in size depending on the rank of each parameter.

            This Servant had nothing but the greatest, most venerable of trees in every category. Strength, Endurance, Agility, Mana, Luck, and Noble Phantasm. Magi had assigned letter grades to each of the five possible ranks for a Servant’s parameters, E being the lowest, and A being the highest. These ranks only truly mattered within the realm of Servants; in comparison to magi, even a Servant with only E rank in all parameters was still far beyond their capabilities. He was of the highest rank in all of them, except Luck, where he was ‘merely’ one rank below the highest possible grade. But a B in a parameter was by no means low; a rank of C was sufficient to be called immense, and a B could be called truly great. So then, for him to have such ridiculously high ranks across his entire profile—————————

            “Holy shit,” Adolpha said, panting, sweating, instantly terrified by the monster standing before her. She read further the page in her mind, and learned, as she suspected, that his class was Berserker. There was considerably more information available – but it was all foggy, the ink itself on the page twisting into gnarled roots beneath the trees that were his base parameters. She could not observe his Noble Phantasm, nor could she find his True Name.

            She glanced at the ground, seeing a dried puddle of blood on the asphalt where she must have passed out. The blood had, as per the spell she cast in her panic, pooled around into a very basic magic circle, one of the few stringent requirements in order to summon a Servant. And right where her right hand would have laid was the giant slab of rock that used to be in the largest crate in the trailer, the one the border officer saw, the one she least wanted to use as catalyst. That only confirmed her suspicions about to whom this Servant belonged.

            A catalyst was an object that was closely tied to the Heroic Spirit that a Master wished to summon. It was possible to summon without one, but the Grail would simply summon a Servant that was compatible with the Master’s personality, not necessarily a powerful one. So of course most Masters chose to use a catalyst, but that could sometimes prove disastrous. And Adolpha felt like this truly was a disaster.

            Because if that was the catalyst she used by accident, and this Servant was the one she had summoned, then her compatibility with him was minimal.

            On the one hand, Madness Enhancement, the class skill of Berserkers, meant that this incredible and ancient hero’s mind was suppressed by insanity in exchange for power. Perhaps she would not have to worry about the difficulty of controlling a spirit like this, but Adolpha was not confident in her ability to sustain this Heroic Spirit in battle due to the massive amounts of mana he would require to function. And since Madness Enhancement increased parameters, as long as that remained active, he would drain even more from her, like the way an eighteen-wheeler truck guzzles diesel.

            Worse, this was a hero who was known to be resistant even to command spells. Command spells were supposed to serve as the ultimate trump card of a Master that could be used on a Servant to compel them to obey any single command, but their power was not infinite, and the command spells of an ordinary magus would not be effective on him, not even with most of his mind consumed with madness.

            Adolpha did not like to admit it, but her lineage, despite its age that was at least equal to that of the Einzberns, was only so-so and her own inborn potential as a magus was nothing special. Her magic circuits were of a good quality and number, and her element was earth. She was even rather talented in the fields of alchemy and formalcraft, having been accepted by the Atlas Institute for a brief apprenticeship that was cut short a year early due to her mother’s illness.

            But she had no stand-out qualities that would give her the opportunity to discover and master great mysteries in her lifetime, and that was a truth her mother had impressed upon her. She was, in effect, just another building block in the Elfbern lineage. Nothing stung harder than realizing that.

            In short, she was not exactly first-rate, not yet at least. It could be said that she had the potential to reach that level eventually, but even a first-rate magus might have trouble supporting a Servant like this Berserker, and she was simply too young to have reached the peak of her skills and power regardless.

            So this outrageous Berserker, who was definitely her Servant – what could she even do with him?

            “Berserker, release him,” Adolpha said, and the giant did not seem to listen to her.

            “Berserker! I am your Master, am I not? Release him! He is not an enemy!”

            Finally, that tremendous hand let go of poor Deimlet, who immediately gasped for air and bent over his knees, groaning in the pain of having been stuck standing in the same position for hours and then suddenly moving.

            “I am sorry, Mr. Pentel!” Adolpha said, reaching out to try to pat him on the back. Even though she hated his arrogance, she certainly had not intended to torture him. That made things a little more personal than they should have been.

            When her hand touched his shoulder, though, he immediately whirled on her, grabbing her arm and shouting out an incantation of a nature-interference spell; he was going to incinerate her.

            Yeah. Of course he would react like this, she thought.

            Even if he was using a High Speed Incantation, though, it would not have mattered. The first syllable barely left his mouth before the giant grey hand seized his cranium once more and trapped him and made him scream in hysterical terror.

            “Ah. Yes, er, thank you, Berserker,” Adolpha mumbled, feeling as though he must have somehow known the other magus would prove to be a threat if released… but that was impossible. He was completely insane. That’s what Mad Enhancement at the huge rank he possessed did to a Servant.

            “You probably should command Berserker to release him from a safe distance,” a smooth voice suggested from behind her. Adolpha turned to see Kotomine Shirou standing there with that same calm smile on his face as always.

            “Y-yeah… I’ll do that,” Adolpha said bashfully. She turned to Berserker. “Okay, um, let him go when I’m back in the cathedral, alright?” Then she trotted off and left the three there alone.

            Father Kotomine chuckled as he watched her go. “Mr. Pentel, while I understand your frustrations, I think by now you realize how unwise it is to attempt to take them out on Ms. von Elfbern with her Servant standing right here. I have been thinking on the matter of your participation in this war, however. Rejoice, for I may have come to a solution that will be satisfactory to us all…”

            The door to the cathedral shut, and Berserker released Deimlet, returning to a passive stance, seemingly content just to stand there. Deimlet grabbed his own head, gasping for air as the sweat of a captured animal poured down his face.

            “I see… I underestimated her,” Deimlet muttered, considerably calmer after getting a chance to breathe and think.

            “Indeed. She summoned a Servant, and permanently cemented her status as a Master of Red regardless of her worthiness. You prevented a battle from taking place, yet she guaranteed the outcome.”

            “He is a powerful Servant, that I am sure of,” Deimlet said. “I do not know if she has what it takes to handle him.”

            “Von Elfbern demonstrated quite the resolve earlier. I suspect she may be a worthy member of our faction, even if she is not at your level, Mr. Pentel,” the priest explained. “She may even prove an adequate Master for this Servant, if she is careful.”

            “We shall see,” Deimlet said, patting dust off of his jumpsuit. “What was your proposition, Supervisor?”

            Kotomine smiled deeply. “You and your brother share your family’s Crest, divided in two pieces between you. This grants the two of you an automatic link, permitting you to share mana. You could support your brother as a backup, so to speak, doubling the supply your Servant has in battle. It would be a very powerful combination.”

            Deimlet did not even need a moment to consider it. “No.”

            “No?”

            “I have my reasons for desiring a Servant of my own for this war.”

            Kotomine lifted his head a little, re-evaluating his opinion of the mercenary.

            _Ah_ , _so you plan to fight even your own little brother for the Grail_ , Kotomine thought. It was natural for any true magus to do such a thing for a chance at the Root itself, but he had believed the infamous Gum Brothers trusted each other enough to share such a reward fairly. Their teamwork and loyalty to one another was unheard of amongst magi, allowing them to act as though their minds and hearts were one on the field of battle and defeat even greatly superior foes with ease. But even a bond of this level was nothing when the Grail stood in the balance.

            “I see. Yes, I should have expected that answer,” the father said with a nod. He looked up at Deimlet with a strange fire in his expression. “Then I have another suggestion…”

             

            When Adolpha made it back into the cathedral, she leaned against the wall and slid down it into a sitting position, wrapping her arms around her knees. She put up a good front out there of pretending she could handle all of this and being just an embarrassed, clumsy teenager. But everything came crashing down around her the instant she gave things some thought.

            She had the wrong Servant. Any of the others that she could have summoned would have been more optimal for her. Worse than just his inevitably absurd draw on her mana, that Berserker was completely insane, had not said a word, and, apparently, not exactly willing to obey her every order. She considered her options. Perhaps she could… swap Servants with one of the other Masters?

            Although it was unorthodox, it would be easy to sever one contract and bind a new one with a different Servant as long as all parties – both Masters and both Servants – agreed. Perhaps the Servants would take offense to playing Musical Masters, but she was sure they could be convinced as long as she strongly reiterated the issue of mana supply.

            After a moment of concentration, Adolpha detected the pass (spiritual link) between herself and Berserker. It was hard to feel because of the fact that almost none of her mana was being drawn through the pass, which explained why she hadn’t realized she had summoned him earlier.

            That was only possible thanks to Berserker moving so very little. Even now, he seemed to be standing out there like he had no cares in the world. Yet that was unusual, as it implied he had chosen, consciously, to restrain himself and avoid spending his own mana stores which would naturally place a burden on Adolpha to replenish them. That should not have been possible.

            Adolpha had a strange feeling. Was Berserker really insane? His rank of Mad Enhancement was B, which was sufficient to strip away all Heroic Spirits’ sanity and leave them mindless machines that could do little more than obey orders. Or, at least, it should have been sufficient.

             

             “Allow me to formally welcome you to our united forces,” Assassin’s dulcet voice purred as she materialized in front of Adolpha.

            Adolpha glanced up in surprise, still far from accustomed to other people just appearing and disappearing as they pleased. She pulled in her knees as much as possible by mere reflex, as if trying to become as tiny as a mouse. “Hello…”

            “So, you managed to summon Berserker. Can you handle him?” the Servant asked.

            Something in Adolpha told her not to let her reservations show. Adolpha rose to her feet against the wall, terrified to take even lean an inch closer to the Servant. At her full height, the older woman was still half a head taller than her. “Of course I can. I wouldn’t have chosen that catalyst if I could not,” she said, as calmly as she could, trying to force the woman to believe her with sheer will in her eyes.

            Assassin’s eyes narrowed down at her, sending a chill up her spine. Did she see right through the lie?

            “Very good. You know, I am pleased that you defeated that boor of a man. I despise his type,” the dark-haired goddess of beauty said with a sigh, stroking her luxurious hair.

            “Does that mean you like me?”

            “Pah!” the woman said, the strange noise coming from so carefully composed a woman catching Adolpha off guard. “I merely like girls more than men. And who does not?”

            That last question, though rhetorical on the surface, seemed to be pointed like a dagger by the decadent intonation, a perfectly attention-seizing space of silence between each word, and an odd, exciting, yet sinister intent posed to Adolpha. The girl froze up, feeling the atmosphere become maddeningly intense, as though on the edge of an absolute territory, a cliff into a deep, dark, unknown abyss. Assassin’s eyes, more beautiful than gemstones, watched her closely, as though anticipating her response.

            “I-I like girls more too,” Adolpha said clumsily, not even sure if she was telling the truth, but it felt right at that very moment. She felt strangely giddy, realizing she was blushing, and most shockingly realizing she did not mind that she was blushing so boldly at the Assassin.

            Her answer must have been exactly the one Assassin was looking for, because the barest hint of a smile crossed her beautiful lips, and she reached up to touch Adolpha on the cheek, careful not to harm her with the gold spike in her palm—or possibly, showing her the spike on purpose. Those fingers, the softest Adolpha had ever felt, so smooth and beautiful and seeping pure mana that tingled against the girl’s skin, slowly slid down to touch Adolpha’s lips, and Adolpha realized she was willing to absolutely do anything this Assassin asked of her just to be touched by her like this again. And that was terrifying, but also so very scintillating.

            So Adolpha embraced these electric feelings, the pleasure of the warmth against her mouth, and slowly, nervously wrapped her lips around the two fingertips pressed against them, embracing them with her tongue and lathering them with saliva. And she watched the slight smile on Assassin’s flawless face grow into a smirk, and felt the butterflies flittering in her stomach multiply many times over.

            “Then, I would like you to prove it,” the proud Servant said, so many new thoughts and emotions rushing through Adolpha all at once.

            Oh god. This was so much more than staring longingly at the artisan-crafted bodies of bathing pleasure homunculi, or practicing kissing with one, a far less fun experience than it sounded due to the other party just standing there and doing nothing. It went far, far beyond sneaking peeks at her father’s lovingly cultivated collection of pornography magazines, which he had bequeathed to Adolpha without her mother knowing.

            Adolpha was madly in love with this Servant, she knew she was from the moment they met, and she had suppressed the feelings but the serpentine beauty just seemed to _know_ exactly what Adolpha was thinking, just the right moves to turn her on, and just how wet she was getting. She never stood a chance.

            “D-do you have a room we can g-go to?” Adolpha whispered, hands going to clutch at her groin just to try to hold back the dripping moisture. But Assassin’s fingers came and latched around her wrists, slowly pulling them away, leaving the girl defenseless, exposed, vulnerable, weak-kneed, and shamefully ready to be taken.

            “Are you afraid to prove it _here_?” Assassin asked forcefully, leaning closer to the brunette’s face and trapping her between the luxurious waves of her beautiful black locks. The raven-haired woman stepped forward and ground her voluptuous body right up against Adolpha, their bosoms flattening together through their clothes and a skirted knee sliding out to brush up between Adolpha’s shaking legs, digging hotly and tightly into her and sending burning jolts of pleasure right up from quim to core. Her spats instantly began to slicken with the moisture she could feel flowing right out of her core against all the pressure.

            “Hnnee,” Adolpha squeaked, feeling all so electric and tingly as a power main.

            “If you give to me all your love and adoration, I will return to you my affections, which are worth more than anything else in this world,” Assassin purred, leaning in just enough to brush her lips over the girl’s cheek in a playful peck. Adolpha, entranced, was only dimly aware of the fingers brushing through her hair and pushing her down to her knees, staring into the frilly black skirt of the Servant with hungry eyes.

            Yes. She knew what Assassin wanted from her.

            She reached out and took hold of the skirt that hung to Assassin’s ankles, and began to lift it up, baring the softest, most pale and beautiful legs that Adolpha had ever seen, and, trembling, she almost feared to continue, to look upon divinely lush thighs and what lied between them. But those fingers stroked her bangs, and the golden spike tickled against her scalp, and Adolpha was compelled. She wanted it. Her mouth watered, so much so that she could barely gulp it all down, that she was nearly drooling.

            She saw tender thighs, as lovely as she had imagined, no, even more so. She lifted the skirt up to Assassin’s hips, and Adolpha saw the tight black silk thong garbing Assassin’s loins, shimmering in the light, the slight outline of a succulent slit just barely visible. And Adolpha leaned in, twisting her head, reaching up to wrap her arms around those lithe legs as her tongue stretched out to worship her goddess. Her long pink muscle brushed up, tasting that silk, feeling the softest imaginable flesh underneath, delectable, tantalizing—————

            The feeling of fingers disappeared from Adolpha’s head, and, before the brunette girl could try to cling onto the woman, Assassin of Black vanished into golden sparkles that tingled across her skin and tongue, then rematerialized a few feet away, smoothing out her dress and giggling darkly. “I am impressed that such a blushing maiden as yourself would be capable of going so far at my behest. You are bold, indeed, for your inexperience, wench. But you already demonstrated this in that petty duel. It is not a quality that I find… displeasing,” Assassin said, as calm and in control as ever, staring down at Adolpha and playing with her hair.

            “I, you, are you a goddess?” Adolpha moaned, doing her best to rise to her feet despite the uneasy shaking in her legs. She could still taste the thong in her mouth, smell it, the scent of flowers, and feel that puffy softness on her tongue.  She had been teased, toyed with, granted only the most momentary and fleeting of contacts, just enough to make her long for more.

            Assassin seemed immediately amused by such a question. “I am not, but you are right to assume my origins are divine. That is irrelevant, however. I am afraid I cannot simply partake in you without the permission of my Master: Such a passion with another Master would be quite harmful to the trust between us.”

            Adolpha teared up a little, covering her mouth with a hand and stifling her sudden rush of un-maguslike emotions. She was so close, and it had all been stolen away from her. She ran through the gamut of anger, then sadness, then grim acceptance in mere seconds. And then she realized that she had been reduced to a pathetic schoolgirl by just a few words and touches from this Servant, this legendary figure…

            And it inspired both awe and fear in her heart.

            Like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

            And Adolpha was still pretty sure she’d kill just for a chance to be admired by this ancient, voluptuous temptress.

            “I shall let you settle from our little game. I would suggest you bring Berserker inside the church; the other Masters have all gone to their own rooms to summon their Servants as well, and we will be establishing a plan of action once they return.” And with those cold, distant words, Assassin turned and strolled away, heels clicking into the tile floors, hips swaying so sensually that it could only have been on purpose, to taunt Adolpha with what she could not have. But the girl hardly cared, for she was too busy watching those hips saunter off. 

          

            When Adolpha had recovered from the yearning, both emotional and physical, she retreated to a bathroom for the churchgoers and locked herself inside a stall to dry off everything between her legs—keenly aware that anyone would be able to smell the telltale musk of her arousal if she did not, and even still wishing for a shower—and then went to the sink and splashed cold water over her face. She needed it. Badly.

            Feeling somewhat more fresh and dignified, she sighed loudly and dried her face off. In her coherency, she came to a series of realizations that should have disturbed her more than they did.

            First, Assassin was the greatest threat to her independence as a Master. Adolpha could not help herself around the beauty, and, she guessed, most likely a few of the other Masters would be in a similar position, which gave Assassin incredible leverage over the Red team. This was no passing lust, as far as she could tell, but rather, for the first time in her life, she saw someone in absolute passion, an undying sort of love that ached in her heart every second that she was not looking at her. Not the sort of thing that even a magus could easily quell. For the time being, they were all united against the Black team, the Yggdmillenia family, but what if that changed?

            Second, if the other Masters were summoning their Servants like Assassin said—it would mean that the momentary safety provided by Berserker’s summoning could be stripped away at any second. If Cabik Pentel, for instance, wished to avenge his brother’s loss, he could summon his Servant and send it straight after Adolpha, who at the moment had absolutely no control and very little understanding of Berserker. That was a threat she could not ignore.

            Third, if the Black team had anyone even remotely as skilled as Deimlet Pentel, then she would be in severe trouble should she ever confront one. If the enemy had a fortress like Assassin explained earlier, then even should the Black team come out to engage them, they could simply retreat back into the fort and force the Red team to fight them on their own turf, in their very workshops where a mage was strongest. Even a second-rate magus could easily defeat a first-rate if they were in their workshop. The other Masters of Red were most likely experienced in invading workshops, and therefore quite worthy opponents, but Adolpha was still a complete greenhorn. If it came down to her personally fighting Masters of Black in the Yggdmillenia fortress, then…

            Adolpha leaned back down to splash more ice cold water on herself. Her Berserker was a total mismatch for her, she was far out of her league, and she was getting distracted by Assassin. How could things get any worse?

            Boom.

            Something exploded, so loud that she clutched her ears and glanced around. The bathroom was fine, but the volume of the blast made it clear that it was definitely nearby. More explosions followed in a staccato burst, and the first thought on the mind of the young Master was that the Black team was striking while they were still summoning Servants! Was such a level of pre-emptive strike even possible? The war had barely begun by official standards, but two Servants had already been summoned by the Black side before the final Master had been chosen…

            Adolpha charged out of the bathroom. There was no point in hiding. Any half-competent magus could find her position using almost infinite kinds of surveillance spells because the church did not appear to have a defensive boundary field in place, and the Elfbern Crest did not contain much in the way of concealment magecraft. She only had two options: escape the area, or defeat her enemies.

            Coming out into the vestibule, Adolpha whirled, hearing the fighting coming from the nave. She stared down the long hallway and saw a blurred figure dash across the top of the pews, and then explosions smashing into the ground after them. She briefly glanced at the doors of the church, wondering if she should just bolt, but no. She knew that if this was an enemy attack, then measures would already have been put in place to kill anyone who tried to simply run, and her truck was destroyed. Berserker was probably still out there, but she could not trust him as an ally. So Adolpha turned and ran into the grand hall, hearing the fighting only intensify as she neared.

            She saw a violent battle.

            She saw a Servant.

            It was a green-haired, cat-eared young girl, lithe and slim in build, yet every kick of her feet propelled her like a rocket across the cathedral, darting from pillar to pillar with so much ease that it looked as though she was flying. She was so fast that she could literally run up the walls, acrobatically somersaulting from place to place as she pursued her prey. The grace of those movements, the simple, animal power in those slender limbs, was captivating, a sight Adolpha could not tear her eyes from. That beautiful long hair bounced around the Servant, swishing around in the air almost in slow motion compared to the rest of her body. She even had a long, furry tail that peeked out from under her skirt, angling around to maintain the Servant’s impeccable balance at all times.

            And in that Servant’s hands was a bow, a beautiful masterpiece—even Adolpha could see that. It twinged in her hands like a harp, every thwip of the white string echoing with the ridiculous, overwhelming power of the weapon—but it was what the bow launched that created the most noise. Arrows appeared out of mana in the Archer’s fingers, then she instantly fired them off, and those arrows pierced the sound barrier, creating small sonic booms similar to a firearm. When they struck, they pierced right through the strong stone of the cathedral, creating craters of crushed stone dust on every impact. It was absolutely beyond belief—beyond humanity—and that Archer was doing it like it was as natural as breathing.

            So enchanted was Adolpha that she hardly noticed who was fighting this monster, and, curious, she looked over to see Gene Rum cowering behind a pillar and gasping for air, so exhausted she was. Up to that point, the Master had somehow been evading every one of those arrows despite how absurdly quick both the Archer and her projectiles were. Could Gene really be _that_ skilled?

            No, Adolpha realized. It took her a moment to read the spells in place, but they were sloppy, rapidly made in the heat of battle, their purpose not even slightly disguised. Gene had been exploiting the cluttered sanctuary and pillars as cover, and there was a flare up of mana from her every time an arrow neared—some sort of automatic defensive spell that created an immense gust of wind, so strong it could have deflected bullets, yet unable to knock the mighty arrows away. It could only divert them just enough, change the angle so slightly to narrowly miss, and only as long as she kept sprinting and diving from cover to cover and denying that Servant a clear shot. Even then, Adolpha realized that the only reason that magical defense was so effective was because arrows were designed to be easily carried by the air, which granted wind a natural advantage over them. And yet, still, if Gene was not using some sort of reinforcement to boost her speed to be like the wind, she would have merely been run down and cornered in an instant.

            Adolpha was watching one of the most talented and experienced fighting magi in the world be as helpless as a mouse before the casual pursuit of a Servant whose face looked disinterested at best. Like all those little tricks Gene kept pulling were merely an annoyance, denying her all those clean kills, and she simply did not care enough to put in any effort.

            To that Archer, Gene Rum was boring prey.

            Adolpha did not see the arrow that did it, but she heard the ripping of cloth and flesh. Gene wobbled on her feet, staggering to a stop right between pillars, wide open, clutching her wounded arm—a mere grazing hit had broken her bone and tore a great gash that bled profusely. Not a mortal wound, but enough to leave the Master dangerously weak.

            The Servant hopped down onto a pew, balancing on the narrow seating like a feline as she drew back her bow for one final arrow, the killing shot. “Farewell, slow deer,” she said quietly, and a chill ran up Adolpha’s spine.

            Before she could do anything but step forward, the arrow was loosed, and it hurtled at supersonic speed to slaughter the magus like a hare.

            But——————

            A strange noise, like the cracking of a whip. The attack struck the ground beside Gene, crushing it with immense force, but failed to harm her. A haggard smile appeared on the magus’s lips, who reached up to tuck much of her long black locks out of her eyes, as they had come loose from her bun. Cornered, she must have put all her power into that shield spell and just barely managed to survive.

            The Archer, without a moment of hesitation, fired a second killing arrow, followed by a second crackle. This one scored a nasty pit in the cathedral wall behind the Master. And Gene still stood.

            “What’s the matter, Archer? Can’t aim?” Rottweil Berzinsky asked, walking into the room through one of the hallways that led to the rest of the complex. “Showing mercy? Or… are you just enjoying her last moments?” the sinister magus asked with a fiendish grin. Then he saw the smile on Gene’s face, and his own soured. “That’s enough playing around. Surely a pathetic human like this isn’t a very fun hunt no matter how many chances you give her. Kill her already.”

            Archer halted, her voice rising without words to shape it, her breath catching in her throat. How could she explain what was happening? She understood, of course, but…

            “Wait————”

            “Just do it!”

            The feline girl fired at his command, but the result was the same. It was just more destruction of the church while Gene remained standing.

           “Ah,” Rottweil muttered, finally grasping the situation. “She is the Gale Wheel, after all. How annoying. Still, she’s immobilized… Heh. Just go and twist her head off, Archer.” He gave the order so matter-of-factly that Adolpha wanted to vomit.

            “Stop!” Adolpha shouted, stomping her foot into the ground with all her strength, so hard that her ankle twinged in pain. “She’s your ally! We’re all on the same team!”

            Rottweil turned slowly, leaning backwards as though drunk as he peered over at her. “You, the Elfbern girl… I’ll only warn you once. Don’t interfere. This bitch needs to die.”

            “Why?!” Adolpha asked, clenching her fists at her sides and bristling.

            “Because her Servant already made it clear to me that she intends to assassinate me before the cooperation contract has expired,” the strange-looking man said.

            “What? What are you talking about?”

            “You heard me. Archer, finish her,” Rottweil commanded, and Archer walked over to Gene across the scattered and destroyed pews. Gene lifted her good hand as if to launch a final, desperate attack—and collapsed to the ground, totally unconscious from her injuries. And totally defenseless.

            Adolpha grimaced. She could not fight a Servant. She could not fight a first-rate magus. She was completely out of her league in every way. But the whole situation stunk. There was no reason to lose an allied Master over something like that.

            “Stop it!” Adolpha shouted, charging in at Rottweil, whose face contorted with anger at her.

            “I warned you, Elfbern! Archer!” he shouted, and the Servant spun on her heel, firing a volley of six arrows that boomed toward the girl, and all she could do was watch the blurs approach. Mentally, she laughed. She thought she had a chance of reaching Rottweil as long as only one arrow was shot at her, but that cat-eared Archer seemed to have read her mind and consigned her to death.

            It wasn’t like she wanted to intervene, she just had no other choice.

            Adolpha felt so stupid that she wanted to die.

            How fortunate that her wish was about to be granted.

 

            Boom.

            Something huge smashed through the ceiling, faster than lightning itself.

            That giant hunk of rock swung at godspeed———————

             The supersonic arrows were all smashed away like they were nothing.

            Adolpha’s eyes widened.

            Before her was the back of a giant, grey-skinned man, rippling with muscle and power.

            All along, she thought she could not trust that Servant because he was insane.

            But, somehow, despite her carefully cultivated intellect and reason that told her never to trust anyone————

            Her heart rose with uncontrollable elation, which soon turned to admiration.

            Berserker was here.

            And he would protect her.

 

            Archer blanched the instant she caught sight of that Servant.

            “No way…” she muttered, and she leapt back as far and as high as she could go, digging her fingers into the stone wall like it was Styrofoam, hanging there from the rafters.

            Lucky for her, Berserker did not pursue her. He simply remained exactly where he was, near enough to defend his Master from any threat.

            “Berserker, huh? Not bad,” Rottweil said, withdrawing to the far end of the church as well, prudently avoiding the Servant. “Archer, this should be a good test of your abilities. Show me what you can do.”

            Archer glanced at her Master with eyes that read like pure, animal terror at the idea.

            “Master, this is…”

            “A Berserker, an insane warrior enhanced with the Mad Enhancement skill. His Parameters are excellent, but he should have no reason or skill left at that rank of Mad Enhancement. He’s no better than a wild beast. Take him out,” said the orange-haired magus.

            “No! Master, that Servant is impossible to defeat!” Archer shouted. “We must flee!”

            “What? How do you know that?” asked Rottweil.

            But Adolpha had figured it out already.

            She rose to her feet, having barely realized that she’d fallen on her bum, and stepped out beside Berserker, glancing up at Archer and watching her reactions carefully.

            It was easy to piece together, since Adolpha did know the identity of this hero.

            The reason why Archer was so scared could only be because———

            She recognized this man on sight. And the only way that could be possible is if she knew him in life.

            The pieces fell into place.

            A cat-eared Archer with Agility of the highest class, equal to even the gods. And with that level of bow skill that far surpassed humanity, and her affinity as a huntress, and her wild and untamed way of running, Archer could only be…

            “Atalanta, the Argonaut,” Adolpha said, feeling no less awe at the realization than she felt at Berserker’s protection.

            Rottweil immediately shot some sort of projectile spell at Adolpha, but she did not have any time to identify it because Berserker simply swatted it away like a leaf met with a hurricane.

            But that was all the answer Adolpha needed. She looked that magus in the eye across the church and smiled at him. It was not meant to be intimidating, but she genuinely felt good about figuring out Archer’s identity so quickly. He, on the other hand, was instantly furious.

            “Archer! How did you let them guess your name?!” he roared, and Archer jolted where she was like a cat caught off-guard. But her eyes never left Berserker.

            “I know who that Servant is, Master. We must withdraw!” Atalanta insisted, but Rottweil was unimpressed.

            He lifted his arm, displaying the red Command Spells engraved on his wrist.

            He was preparing to force Archer to fight Berserker.

            And that was a mistake.

            Because—

            Everyone could hear his flesh ripping apart, a disgustingly wet noise.

            His arm flew off his shoulder like it was being stolen away by the angels of God.

            Three long, sharp-tipped daggers with plain hilts shot right through him, destroying his bones and ripping the entire limb off like it was nothing. Rottweil immediately gripped the bloody stump left behind, a strange cry of both pain and anger bubbling up through his throat. His arm was carried right into the cathedral wall, pinned against it by the strange weapons.

            “Aaauuuuughuhhh!”

            Adolpha turned, realizing she, too, had not seen the attack occur, and this was because the flight path of the weapons she now recognized as Black Keys had been altered supernaturally to come from an unexpected angle. The perpetrator revealed himself, walking into the sanctuary to stand at the altar from a hallway that nobody had been watching in all the chaos. Kotomine Shirou bowed slightly to everyone in his place of preaching, glancing around at all the damage that had occurred.

            “I do not mind it if you all wish to compare Servants, but would you kindly do so outside the House of God?”  the priest asked calmly.

            Adolpha glanced at Rottweil’s severed arm, and saw that the Master was running to retrieve it. More importantly than regaining his arm, that limb still possessed all his Command Spells, and without it, Archer was not forced to obey him at all.

            But before Rottweil could come anywhere close to it, Assassin materialized out of her golden sparkles and stood between him and his Spells. He froze midstep and hissed at her, but only for a moment, then he hopped back to what seemed like a safe distance.

           “Still, this skirmish has been quite illuminating in regards to the capabilities of a few of our summoned heroes. I commend both Archer and Berserker. To score a blow on Gene Rum, the Gale Wheel, can only be thanks to the highest level of skill with a bow. And for one to defend one’s Master so excellently, you are truly strong, Berserker,” Kotomine said.

            Archer glared, first at Assassin, then at Kotomine. Perhaps his compliment was a little too back-handed. The arrow flew at him even faster than any of the ones Adolpha had seen so far, and only a mystic defensive field, scaled like a dragon, that appeared before Kotomine stopped it – and only narrowly.

            “Please, I meant no offense, Archer,” Kotomine said, chuckling and motioning for Assassin not to reciprocate. The dark-haired temptress waved her hand, and the defensive barrier vanished.

            “You attacked my Master,” Atalanta growled angrily.

            “Yes. However, it was only to stop the battle. I have every intention of returning that arm to him, as soon as he agrees to, at the very least, postpone hostilities towards Gene Rum and Adolpha von Elfbern until after the Black team has been eliminated. That was, after all, the contract he signed with the Mage Association,” Kotomine explained. “After we have defeated the Black team, there are no more agreements to bind any of us. In exchange for your discretion, I’ll return to you your arm, and, more importantly, I will not report that you broke your contract when you attacked Gene Rum.”

            Rottweil gritted his teeth in fury, but was at a clear disadvantage with his wound. “Fine. I agree. Unless they screw with me, I won’t attack them.”

            Father Kotomine nodded respectfully, gesturing at Assassin who went, pulled out the Black Keys, and tossed the arm back to Rottweil. He held it up to the stump, and there was a small flash of mana through the room as he cast some sort of healing spell. Adolpha peered closely, managing to spot what looked like silver gleaming underneath his fingers, but then he covered it up by magically repairing his sleeve in an instant.

            “Archer, you will not engage Adolpha von Elfbern or Gene Rum,” Rottweil said, and Archer dropped down from her perch and landed beside him.

            The priest smiled. “Very good. I’m glad we could sort this out without anyone getting too badly hurt.”

            Rottweil smiled back, and the expression looked unnatural on him. “Yes, the matter between myself and those two is certainly settled. For now. However, I am still owed for what _you_ did to me!”

            For the first time, a crack in Kotomine’s composure showed, as he seemed to furrow his brow for just an instant. Perhaps Rottweil Berzinsky was just a tad bit too unmanageable, even for a man of the faith, Adolpha thought.

            “I… see. Yes, you must be angry with me. I apologize full-heartedly. I am willing to do anything in my power to compensate you. Would you like money? Or I could introduce you to some powerful figures in the Church, they would make good allies in the future,” the tanned priest said, rapidly recovering.

            “No. I really don’t care about any of that. There’s only one thing that’s fair here. Wouldn’t you agree, Archer?” Rottweil asked Atalanta, who nodded, clearly understanding exactly what he meant without needing the words for it. Perhaps, in their own way, they were a fairly compatible Master and Servant combo after all.

            “I want… _your arm_.”

            “You what?” Kotomine asked, so baffled and shocked that a bead of sweat made its way down his cheek as he smiled as nervously as Adolpha had ever seen him.

            “Don’t worry, I’ll give it right back just like you did mine. All I’m asking is to rip it off of you for a moment. That’s fair, isn’t it, Father?”

            The priest exchanged a quick glance with Assassin, who offered no words in his defense, as if saying, “Work it out on your own.”

            Kotomine took a deep breath. “I am afraid that is not permissible, Silver Lizard.”

            “Why? Afraid to lose your Command Spells? Is Assassin dangerous without a sure way to control her?” Berzinsky asked with a sinister grin.

            “…Yes, among other reasons,” said Father Shirou under his breath.

            “Or do you just not trust me?”

            “Trust was never a required condition of our cooperation. But this is, regardless, not a deal I can make with you,” Kotomine said plainly. “May I offer anything else to smooth things over?”

            “No.”

            “Er, then I suppose we are at an impasse…”

            “No. I can just take it from you,” Rottweil said, and he signaled for Archer to attack with just one wave of his hand.

            The green-haired beauty, strong as a lion, dashed forward and up the wall, launching a hail of bolts at Assassin, dozens, no, scores of deadly arrows puncturing stone and crushing rock like it was nothing. She was not holding back even an ounce—she recognized this opponent as a threat, and was addressing her as such. Yes, she was going for the kill.

            The same barrier that had defended her Master was erected in an instant by Assassin’s fingertips, each individual scale in the magical forcefield deflecting an arrow and shattering. The gaps were quickly covered up in an instant by the remaining scales rearranging themselves as fast as light, and the scales themselves were gradually replenished by fresh mana poured into the spell, but the rain of blows came faster than they could regenerate. Assassin was so focused on holding up the barrier that———

            When Atalanta leapt off of the ceiling and dove down in a murderous kick, she was unprepared, and that foot smashed right what was left of the spell, connecting with Assassin’s outstretched hand. There was an audible crack, and Assassin winced, falling backwards. But she was not the only one wounded. Archer yowled as the golden spike in Assassin’s hand pierced right through Archer’s sole, stabbing her in the foot. Blood smeared on the ground with every other step as Archer retreated, limping like a wild beast.

            That should have left her open to be blasted away by an attack from Assassin, only Assassin was in no better condition, as her arm had snapped to the bone, and she rose to her feet with a great deal of effort and gripped her useless right arm tightly. “Archer!” Assassin hissed, managing to extend her functional hand and prepare some sort of attack spell. But Atalanta was many times faster to react, and it seemed as though she’d even read Assassin’s mind somehow, because she whirled and fired an arrow before the spell even launched. The deep purple beam of pure energy was scattered, and the arrow destroyed. A complete stalemate———

            No. Archer had the advantage in any ranged confrontation.

            Before Assassin could even form the incantation on her lips to fire off a second beam, five more arrows had already been shot at her. Her eyes widened, reacting at her utmost limit to survive.

            She leapt upward and towards the stained glass window, smashing through it and escaping outside. It was a good tactic, but foolish, because Archer was still predicting her every move, and followed her out through her own artful pane with a thunderous crash.

            Both Rottweil and Kotomine did nothing while their Servants battled up to that point. It was a mutual stand-off where being the first to move would mean opening themselves up to being slain by the other’s Servant. They simply stared at each other the entire time, eyes locked, each plotting their move.

            When their Servants escaped the cathedral to continue the battle outdoors, the Masters moved instantly. Between the two of them, neither reacted faster than the other. This was impressive more for Berzinsky than the priest, as Kotomine was a trained Executor of the church, taught many techniques to hone his initiative to nearly superhuman levels. But Berzinsky lost no time to him, and if this was an ordinary quick-draw in the Wild West, they would both surely die to each other’s bullets.

            But it was not. This was a battle between magi, and the fact that they were evenly matched in alacrity only meant that the battle would be decided by which of them had prepared the finer spells and the better plan.

            Kotomine Shirou launched the first attack, flinging three Black Keys that he drew from his vestments, the blades actually coming into existence from the otherwise empty hilts when they passed underneath the shroud around his shoulders. Normally they would have to be manifested via pages from a holy Bible, but the red shroud he wore seemed to grant a similar blessing.

            Such an obvious and direct attack was easily evaded by Rottweil simply dashing behind a pillar, but that played right into the priest’s hands. The same magecraft he had utilized to alter the flight path of his Keys before activated again, a colorful magic circle appearing in the air and crackling with mana that altered the trajectory of the blades without reducing their lethal speed. It was a simple but highly effective attack when coupled with the throwing techniques of an Executor that allowed Black Keys to develop the momentum necessary to penetrate iron.

            And it was a mistake to try to use the same trick twice, because Rottweil had intentionally baited the move. He glanced at the magic circle of the spell and deciphered the entire thing in an instant, learning not just its function but all its limitations. Adolpha knew this because even she could do it from a distance. The orange-haired magus simply sidestepped the trio of swords, not even dignifying the attack with a defensive spell.

            “Heh. Child’s play.”

            That boast was poorly timed, because the Keys were affected by a second magic circle that instantly reversed their velocity to aim at their target again, this time from behind him. Yet, Rottweil reacted so quickly—without so much as glancing behind himself—that his battlefield awareness could only be called the highest class. He calmly ducked them and they crashed into the stone floor, kicking up a cloud of dust.

            Had he heard the sound of the magic circle forming? Adolpha wondered. Or did he just pick up on the surge of mana behind himself that quickly?

            Her eyes moved back to the priest, only to realize that he was not at the altar anymore. That multi-layered assault had merely been a camouflage to slip away to a more advantageous position. It was executed so smoothly that Adolpha was terrified because if she were in Rottweil’s shoes, how many times would she have died already?

            Unlike the fight between Archer and Gene, she felt like even if she did charge in, she wouldn’t even distract them for a moment. And yet, and yet she felt the urge to intervene, the urge to join the fight no matter how outside of her depth she was, that she could grasp for just a moment the glory of battle and become—

            Become what?

            Adolpha shook her head and glanced up at Berserker. He had not moved an inch, nor had he said anything. But, by concentrating and casting an old Einzbern spell, Transference of Consciousness, she could share all her senses with his and obtain a glimpse into his mind, what little there may be of it. The spell was mainly used to insert one’s mind into objects within one’s bounded field for surveillance purposes, but it could be used on familiars, like Servants, just as well.

            She accessed the Magic Crest on her core, the center of her magic circuits, and dredged up the generations-old spell and allowed the Crest itself to cast it for her. Relinquishing control of her own circuits always felt wrong, but she had no choice, as she had no personal knowledge of that spell. She felt the glyph crackle on her belly, and for just a moment she came face to face with all the Elfberns that came before, standing in an unbroken line, all cloaked in shadow and staring down at her from the past with the utmost expectations. If she gazed further, past the eldest of the Elfberns, she could see something, an infinitely giant wall past which she was not permitted to tread. She had never noticed it before—but now it almost seemed to be illuminated with ancient power in the background, as though what lied within was calling out to her———

            But then that vision was gone, and the activating spell brought her mind into that of Berserker. It was an eerie sensation to be ripped out of her own body, and that was why she hated using Transference of Consciousness.

 

            And then she saw through Berserker’s eyes, heard through his ears, smelled through his nose, and felt through all his nerves. The sheer wave of information nearly overloaded her mind, because all his senses were dozens, no, hundreds of times more acute than hers. He could hear every single step and clash of the battle between Assassin and Archer taking place, even though it had moved fifty meters out from the cathedral’s walls and into a forest. He could hear the doves flocking to and fro in the skies accurately enough to know their exact positions. He had already spotted Kotomine up in the rafters and sneaking over above Rottweil, and noticed the very subtle, hidden mana flow in Rottweil’s hands as a covert spell was cast. Adolpha had her doubts that even first-rate magi could have detected that, outside of tracking specialists. He could smell the perspiration on both of the Masters as they prepared for the next step in their battle, the adrenaline oozing out of their pores. It was like smelling the pure desire to kill.

            And Adolpha felt his instincts, which were so powerful and overwhelming that she was lost in them temporarily and tried to flee the room in his body before realizing it was not hers. They were greater than any human could possibly resist—waves and oceans of animal urges and reflexes, hardly dulled at all by the constant white noise that left Berserker mindless. Those instincts told him to kill threats, avoid dangers, but more than that, they were with such precision and power that he could almost see the future if he were to charge into a fight with the Masters or the Servants further off. This was no mere instinct like any Berserker would have, but rather something far, far beyond that. Adolpha nearly drowned in the impossible sensations before she managed to steady herself using her magus concentration training, reminding herself that she was not Berserker, that she was merely a passenger in his body.

            That was his Eye of the Mind.

            She had to focus to glimpse at anything deeper than his sensory inputs or his bare instincts, digging deeper to meld their minds together. Though she had her reservations, part of her now wished to know more about her Servant. That curiosity dragged her along a darker path.

            Rage. Blinding fury. Everything was red and black and hate. This Berserker was like an Erinyes from Hades itself, no, a thousand times worse. In an instant, all her carefully built up control was washed by the biblical deluge of wrath, and Adolpha’s heart burst into such violent malice that she tried to raise her fists and walk forward to murder everyone in the entire world with her bare hands.

            Only the prison of Berserker’s body kept her from moving, from roaring and attacking everything that moved.

            This was Mad Enhancement.

            No, that was wrong. Mad Enhancement merely intensified what was already there.

            This hatred, this divine anger that made Adolpha want to shrink into a ball and bawl like a child, was no less than Berserker’s own rage, merely brought to the fore of his mind to strip him of all his reason.

            She was trapped now, and she lacked the power to end the spell or even to swim back to the surface of his mind. She had caught herself in a skill meant to drive Servants mad, and there was no possible way for her to remain sane. Her mind was going to crumble, break apart like a ship being crushed under towering waves in an ocean of murder————

 

            Something ripped her out of the hurricane, and Adolpha swooned from where she had been standing as stiff as a board mere moments ago, about to collapse if not for something holding her upright. She planted her hands on the burning Magic Crest on her gut and gasped for air, back to her own body, her senses briefly confused by the improper breaking of the Transference of Consciousness and tasting the things she saw, seeing what she heard, feeling what she tasted. She never realized that the sound of her own breathing looked like bolts of lightning for some reason. Nor did she know before that instant that her hands tasted like bubblegum if she looked at them. It was the first time she experienced synesthesia, and it was both exciting and terrifying.

            Thankfully, her consciousness seemed to recover rapidly, and she glanced up, confused as to why the spell had ended. It was not due to lack of mana, but rather, as she saw, something had triggered the automatic cessation of the spell due to her body experiencing a sudden sensation. And that sensation was Berserker’s hand wrapping around her shoulder.

            Even now, it was anchoring her, holding her in place where the strength of her legs would have failed. The grey hand was warm, strong, but not crushing. It was gentle against her, as gentle as her own father once held her. Berserker was looking down at her with his eyes filled with insanity and rage, but there was no anger in his face.

            “Berserker, you…” Adolpha murmured, reaching up to hold his massive fingers as she caught her breath. “Did you save me?”

            It was unthinkable. She had been in his mind, she’d seen everything he was thinking and it was all raw fury. There was no mind in existence that could endure such a catastrophe. Or was all that merely her assumption? Could it be that somewhere, underneath all of that hate and spite, there was still _something_ left of him?

            “T-thank you,” Adolpha said, blushing, not with passion or shame, but rather with a feeling of warmth, of support.

            He shouldn’t have been able to understand a word she was saying except basic commands. He did not react in any way to what she said. But somehow she felt like he understood her perfectly.

            “Berserker, do you think we should get involved?” Adolpha asked. Yes, this was what she _should_ have done from the start, rather than messing around with strange spells.

            Her Servant remained completely still for a moment, and then he slowly shook his head.

 

Interlude 1A: The Snake and the Lion

            Birds flew out of the forest en masse as a major blast echoed through it. As the natural inhabitants fled in droves as two spirits waged war within it like fierce gods, doves flocked to the trees in spite of all their instincts.

            Assassin had ripped the skirt of her dress off with her hands to make movement far easier. Like most Assassins, that dark-haired temptress was not prepared for direct combat with an Archer. Her skills were based around espionage and stealth, defeating foes through sabotage and assassination, not in a fight. For her to engage any opponent like an Archer, she would normally do so via ambush or trickery, preparing a perfect trap and striking when the enemy could not possibly survive it.

            In other words, this was the worst possible situation for her.

            Arrows scored the ground just behind her, smashing trees down all around, driving her forward in a hectic chase all too familiar to when she, in life, had chased traitors to death with her deceased husband’s favored hunting dogs. The memory brought a temporary smile to her face that was quickly forgotten in the tension.

            The only reason she was able to keep a slight lead on Archer was because Archer’s foot was badly hurt, and not merely due to being stabbed through it, but because she had poisoned the spike, just in case. Although the poison she chose was not especially lethal for a Servant, her foresight was the only reason she was still alive, because Archer was left more or less unable to put any weight on her bleeding, poison-wracked foot, and had to chase after Assassin by swinging through trees and scrambling on hands and feet. Despite this, Archer’s godlike speed and personal skills made it downright trivial to overtake Assassin. There would always be the occasional arrow loosed here and there as Archer was flipping through the air, blocking off routes that Assassin might have been able to exploit and herding her into more dangerous territory. This was not the worst part.

            Occasionally, the sound of Archer’s pursuit would stop. Assassin immediately scrambled for strong cover, just a split second before a rain of arrows crashed all around, shining arrows absolutely smashing through a large swathe of earth and tree. This assault, like goddamned artillery, was far, far beyond anything Assassin could deal with without cover. The only reason she was able to survive these bursts of destruction was because Archer had to first stop her pursuit and balance herself on a branch or against a tree, granting Assassin the precious instant required to make it to some sort of cover.

            It was stop-and-go for the both of them, because if Assassin foolishly tried to dash away during these volleys, then Archer’s arrows would inevitably find her through the tangled mess of wood and leaves—and she only knew that because the girl had guessed Archer’s identity. Indeed, if she did not know that Archer was none other than Atalanta, she might have dared to try and escape while Archer was stopped, and received an arrow through the back of the skull. But for the time being, there was a sort of equilibrium in the movements of both.

            That balance could not last.

            Effective cover was becoming harder and harder to find whenever she heard Archer’s movements stop. A mere tree or two was not enough to survive it. Even using hundreds of doves to scan the entire wood for ideal hiding spots, Archer seemed to be deliberately pushing Assassin towards places that were less and less dense with trees and rocks, and there was nothing Assassin could do to stop it. She could not radically change direction because they were not far from the edge of the forest, and leaving the forest would mean instant death. She could not stop and try to fight Archer because her arm was still broken and the incantations necessary to cast her attack spells on a volume required to match Atalanta’s hail of arrows would get her killed.

            Soon Assassin was forced into diving behind an old, dead tree trunk and placing her hand on it, pouring an inhuman amount of mana into it as part of a hasty reinforcement spell. It was a spell she rarely used, a spell relegated to commoners—but here she was, covered in dirt and mud, wearing a ruined dress that had been torn by both arrow and fist, scrambling tooth and nail to survive—now this peasant spell had become absolutely vital to her survival. The trunk was hardened to a level far beyond even steel, and when the storm of shots came, the force of them all crashing into it nearly uprooted the whole thing, chipping wood away and carving into it as though to reach the other side.

            But it gave Assassin just enough time to chant out the incantation of a powerful spell. There was a risk involved in trying to cast anything, but now she was cornered and had no other options. It would be a waste of good wood—and here she was, thinking like a monarch again, she cursed—but it had to be done. She spat out the four count verse in the language of gods, and rose from her sole protection to fling out an arm and shout the last line.

            The arrows came for her just before she could complete the spell, and she could only watch them hurtle straight for her neck to part her beautiful pale flesh and spill her divine blood————

            And the doves that dove from the canopy gathered into a sudden swarm of bodies and feathers, each arrow smashing through them, but diverted, in a shower of blood that rained across Assassin, soaking her in the sins of that violent sacrifice just to buy one more second. Her yellow, serpentine eyes met those of Archer, and she could hear Archer roar in anger at the sight of the gathering red power in Assassin’s hands.

            But it was too late.

            This was the most powerful attack she had available, and she was giving it absolutely everything she had.

            “Tilpānu Aššur!”

 

Interlude End

 

            An explosion rocked the entire cathedral, and out of the scattering dust that filled the air Father Kotomine leapt out with six Black Keys in hand – three in each hand, held between his fingers – and throwing them at superhuman velocity, slightly charged with mana, into the dust cloud. They exploded on contact with something, and Kotomine chuckled softly as he raced backwards with short hops across the scattered remains of what used to be the pews.

            What was so funny?

            Adolpha guessed that either the priest was confident about his victory after that attack, or…

            He was laughing at himself.

            Out of the smoke, Rottweil burst forward, a savage grin on his face, half of which had been burned into white, melted slag. And despite those third, maybe fourth degree burns, he charged across the cathedral like the Devil himself. The pews were simply smashed right into pieces underneath his monstrously strong legs, presenting about as much of an obstacle as sheets of paper. Splinters scattered across the floor, sliding all the way to Adolpha’s feet.

            Still, the hindrances prevented him from catching up to Kotomine, who was just slightly slower, but more able to take advantage of the terrain in his movements. Black Keys rained down on Rottweil nonstop, forcing him to shield his face with both arms, digging into his flesh in some places and simply rebounding off of him in others – as more of his clothes tore away, Adolpha could see why and how. Most of Rottweil’s body, excluding his hands and head, was covered in white-silver scales, and these were so hard and durable that even Kotomine’s excellent throwing techniques could not pierce them easily. Every actual wound that was scored was superficial at best, and hardly fazed Rottweil.

            Kotomine Shirou could have just kept flinging more and more Keys, except that his hand began to emerge from within his pastor’s suit entirely empty rather than lined with hilts. He simply ran out. This was where Adolpha expected him to change tactics, like a magus would just start casting some other form of attack, but the tanned priest did no such thing. Instead, he began to circle around the room, ducking and sweeping with his hands to grab up the daggers that had been buried in the masonry or were lying on the floor, recycling them for another round of use.

            This maneuver was risky, as returning the way he came naturally brought him nearer to the enemy Master’s path, denying him cover as well. Worse, it revealed that the priest relied heavily on the Keys as weapons.

            Just as Kotomine was diving for the next Black Key, Rottweil intercepted him. Rather than continuing to chase him in circles that slowed him down, Rottweil instead pounced on the location of the next Key, catching up in an instant.

           The priest’s eyes widened for just a moment before savage claws, manifested in an instant, dug into his chest, twisting around and ripping right through his bulletproof smock. The force with which the scaly hand smashed into him alone was enough to knock the wind right out of his lungs and send him flying into the altar across the cathedral—it was no exaggeration to say that it was as though a Servant had hit him.

            The priest coughed and spasmed on the ground there, while Rottweil slowly lifted his clawed hands to look at what he had ripped away. In one hand he held the father’s red shroud, torn to shreds and rendered useless as a conceptual armament. In the other, there was a Bible impaled on his deadly claws, the dense pages having managed to stop him from ripping out organs. Rottweil growled, either in frustration or amusement, and smashed the Bible into the nearby pillar, scattering its ruined pages through the air and freeing his hand.

            The holy paper fluttered around, the wind coming through the broken windows and carrying them to and fro until the entire cathedral was full of them. Amidst this strangely beautiful sight, Father Kotomine managed to catch his breath and rise, reaching to touch the spot where he had stuffed the Bible under his jacket on the off chance that he was hit, and wincing. Although the claws had been stopped, the sheer strength in that lizard-like arm had really done a number on him. And yet———

            Kotomine smiled.

            “I see the Association chose well when it hired you,” the tanned, white-haired priest said, clearing his somewhat hoarse throat. How could he possibly maintain his composure in a situation like this? Adolpha wondered in shock.

            “You’ve seen nothing yet, Supervisor,” Rottweil said, ripping up the holy shroud even more, just to be sure, as he strolled towards the sanctuary and the panting priest.

            “I am sure you have many more tricks up your sleeve, as do I, and this has been fun, but I would like to end this sparring match before one of us really gets hurt,” Kotomine said. “We do have to be ready for the Black team, after all.”

            “You’re nervous because Archer is kicking Assassin’s ass, aren’t you?”

            “That is one reason, yes.”

            “Just like I’m kicking yours!”

            “I would not go that far,” Kotomine said with a chuckle.

            “Oh yeah? Then I guess I better have that arm off!” Berzinsky shouted, his voice turning almost more lacertillian, shallow, hissing. His tongue flicked out of his mouth, having grown, somehow, to be thrice as long as that of a normal person and forked at the tip. He was taller, more muscled, all the places that had been burned had scabbed over with some sort of pseudo-scales. Adolpha shuddered. He was modifying his body on the fly to be more monstrous and much, much more powerful.

            Kotomine lifted up the cloth of the altar and reached underneath to pull out an entire bowl full of empty Black Keys, showing them to the enemy with a slight smile. “This is my territory. And I am an Executor of the Church. I would not recommend coming at me as a monster. You have a better chance as a magus.”

            “Monster?” Rottweil growled, what was left of his face contorting in pure rage. He held up the ruined shroud. “Those are useless to you now! I’ll rip out your throat, fool!”

            He charged forward, leaping across the entire cathedral in one jump and lashing out with both hands to tear the priest limb from limb.

            But Kotomine did not show the slightest fear on his face. If anything, his smile widened.

            Rottweil had indeed transformed to become much faster and stronger than Kotomine was, even when Kotomine was enhancing his body with reinforcement magecraft. With his wild power, blinding speed and reactions, mastery of his own movements, and sheer durability, it was safe to say that the Silver Lizard could slaughter almost any magus in the world if he got close to them.

            But the good father was not just some magus.

            Darkly tanned hands wrapped around Rottweil’s extending arm, gripping him at the joints of the elbow and wrist as Kotomine simply fell backwards. Rottweil could not alter his momentum, and when he realized the priest’s skill in martial arts, it was already too late to prevent what was coming.

            Kotomine kicked Rottweil’s gut as he fell down, using the anchored arm and strength in his foot to only boost the Silver Lizard’s velocity as he hurtled right over the Executor and into the solid wall, head-first.

            The Supervisor flipped back up onto his feet in a fraction of a second, grabbing a Black Key hilt from the bowl and holding it up as a fluttering holy page came down to rest on it, and he drew forth a long steel dagger from the paper. He whipped it around and poured it full of magic energy to inscribe magic runes all along its length, turning it into a simple but highly effective bomb that could be armed and thrown at any moment. Rottweil twitched and flopped around on the ground, trying to reorient himself, but utterly dazed—most of his head had not transformed at all, and to take such a hit from all his own strength and a little extra should likely have killed him. The fact that he was still alive was ridiculous, Adolpha thought.

            “Now then, are you finished?” Shirou Kotomine said, panting lightly.

            “Noo,” Rottweil groaned, somehow finding the strength in his wobbly silver legs to rise up and face the priest once more. His round red sunglasses had shattered, so he pulled them off and tossed them aside, revealing his eyes that had slit pupils, just like a lizard. His teeth, sharper, more made to tear through meat than a human’s, were bared to show his determination. “I’ll have that arm.”

            “You truly are terrifying,” the priest muttered, unknowingly echoing the exact same thought from Adolpha mere moments before. “I sincerely apologize for what I said before. I do not consider you a monster. I was merely goading you into attacking me directly. A real monster would not have avoided crushing the body of Gene Rum while we were fighting earlier.”

            Adolpha cocked her head in confusion, glancing over where Gene Rum was laying, still blacked out, but surrounded by several holes in the once-beautiful stone floor where Rottweil must have been stomping past and around her. Not even a hair on her body had been touched. Wait, Adolpha thought, eyes widening. The sheer number of holes could not be a coincidence. Kotomine had been deliberately leading Rottweil around the body to test his adherence to the deal they made?

            “I know your games, Supervisor. And I can see right through them. This is nothing—magi are slimy bastards, and I’ve worked with them all my life. No, I don’t begrudge you playing my temper against me. That’s fair in a fight. However, I can tell you’re someone who enjoys winning from that dopey smile on your face.”

            Kotomine’s brow furrowed. “Dopey?”

            “Yeah, that’s right. You smile like you lie, very poorly,” Rottweil cackled through his predator’s teeth.  “And since you know what it’s like to want to win, you probably understand why I won’t be satisfied until I’ve got that arm of yours!”

            The priest dove backwards off of the sanctuary, flinging the supercharged Black Key right at the monstrous magus. It was easily parried with one large scaled arm, but————

            The blast shook the cathedral like nothing Adolpha had seen before. It was so severe that Berserker stepped in front to shield her from the shockwave of heat and smoke and rock debris that could have hurt her, instead raining harmlessly on his huge and nearly impenetrable bulk.

            Simultaneously, there was a distant echoing boom from outside, out in the forest. Adolpha peered out through the smoke and saw that some sort of fire explosion had set all the woods she could see alight, causing masses of destruction. She coughed and had to cast an alchemical spell to clear out her lungs of all impurities so that she could breathe in the heavy smoke, then, in order to see and understand what was going on, she cast Transference of Consciousness once more, but this time solely to borrow Berserker’s senses.

            Ready for the rush, she found it much easier to stay in control of her mind this time. As she suspected, with his divine instincts alone it was trivial to ‘see’ without seeing: she could observe what both Kotomine and Rottweil were doing.

            Yes, Rottweil had survived.

            Though one of his arms was now missing, completely destroyed by the violence of the blast, and there were several deep gashes in his chest and legs, he remained standing, wreathed in dark smoke. The Master staggered forward one step, then two, and Father Kotomine, coughing into the sleeve of his smock, somehow realized through all the obfuscation that his opponent was still a threat, and he tried to bolt away towards the doors.

            Crunch, glass and stone went underneath Rottweil’s feet.

            Through Berserker’s ears, Adolpha heard the hand grab the priest and slam him into the pillar, easily caught up to now that there were no pews or other obstacles left to delay his movements.

            Rottweil pinned Kotomine there, who struggled to breathe around the crushing grip of that massive hand, sending brutally powerful kicks into the Silver Lizard’s gut, but only managing to hurt his foot in the process.

            The battle was over.

            Adolpha couldn’t believe it.

            The priest could only slowly choke out, defeated by something so simple as brute strength and a solid grip. Yes, even Executors of the Church, who hunted and slew both magus and monster alike, were only human.

            Adolpha was done watching. She canceled the spell, noticing that enough of the smoke had cleared out to be able to see the other Masters without Berserker’s help, and she strode forward to go put a stop to it, preparing her strongest curse of petrification. She had no idea if it would work, but she could not allow the Supervisor for this Holy Grail War to perish. That would throw the entire thing into jeopardy.

            Before she could go far, however, someone grabbed her wrist and kept her where she was. Adolpha glanced over her shoulder and saw Gene Rum, who was suddenly up and awake. Adolpha scanned the woman closely, noting that her wound had sealed up somehow and she was not showing any signs of fatigue or smoke-suffocation, which meant that the magus had been able to heal and protect herself with magecraft, which meant she was…

            Playing possum all along.

            “Wait. It’s not over yet,” Gene said, releasing Adolpha and adjusting her glasses to look closely at the struggling pair.

            “What are you talking about? He’s going to die!”

            “No. He’s not defeated. Pay attention,” Gene said with immense authority, reminding Adolpha all-too-much of the instructors she had learned from at Atlas.

            The brunette girl returned her gaze to that desperate struggle, and saw, on Kotomine’s arm, a glowing symbol light up. It took a moment for her to realize that it was a Command Spell being activated, the use of which could only be for—————

            Golden sparkles appeared beside Kotomine, and, out of nowhere, Assassin materialized, wounded, caked with dirt on her once-pristine skin, her dress in tatters and slouched in pain. Assassin coughed violently and glanced at Rottweil who was mere inches from her, requiring a moment for recognition of the situation to dawn on her. Rottweil, in turn, had only enough time to let out a slight hiss of fear. And then the golden spike in Assassin’s good hand was just, suddenly, buried in Rottweil’s eye, and the force of her palm strike sent the Silver Lizard flying across the church into the broken pillar on the other side.

            Adolpha’s jaw dropped.

            Father Kotomine collapsed to the ground, gasping for air and holding his bruised throat through which he could barely form words. “Thank-thank you, Assassin,” he stammered, wheezing, yet smiling at the rush of being able to breathe again.

             Assassin, in turn, did not smile at all. She simply stared down at her Master, then over at the now beaten and bloody Rottweil who was clutching his ruined eye and yowling in pain as poison began to spread through his skull, and lastly her eyes moved to settle upon Adolpha, her face eerily devoid of expression.

            Adolpha could not possibly guess what was going through that Servant’s head in that moment when their eyes met, but a chill crept up her spine. More than anything, Assassin, despite being dirtied and hurt, still had those eyes, regal eyes that regarded everything and everyone as if it were no more than worms to her.

            “Assassin, now that the battle is over, you will need to-to cure the Silver Lizard and Archer,” Kotomine said.

            “Must I?” Assassin asked, not looking at him, but maintaining the gaze upon Adolpha and reaching up to run her fingers down her long, black locks. With her skirt torn off, Adolpha realized she could see much of the Servant’s bare legs, only the second time she was blessed with such a sight… and despite Assassin’s condition, she hardly felt any less attracted to her otherworldly beauty. Instead, the girl rather felt impressed with how Assassin carried herself and still conveyed such poise and power in spite of her state.

            “Yes,” her Master said, rising to his feet with some difficulty. “Archer won’t be long to come back here. You had best hurry and begin healing her Master, or she will attack us again.”

            “Berserker,” Adolpha said, issuing her first true command. “Protect Father Kotomine and Assassin if Archer tries to kill them.” She had no idea if Berserker understood such a complicated order, but the spirit of it should have been clear to him.

            As if to confirm exactly what Kotomine said, that very next instant arrows poured in through the broken windows, aimed at his voice.

            But they were all smashed away by the leaping Berserker, easily defending both Master and Servant. When Archer appeared in one of the sills, Berserker jumped at her, and she yelped in fear and fell back out of the cathedral only for Berserker to simply smash right through the stone wall and grab Atalanta up in one mighty hand and swing her over his shoulder like a petulant child.

            “No! Let me go! Heracles! Let me go!” Atalanta shouted, furious, bloodthirsty, her honor demanding to finish the battle. She kicked and screamed and even chomped into the muscles on his back, digging her teeth through his skin until he bled. But Berserker did not seem to care much, and delivered her to Assassin, who reached up to grab and hold the wounded foot and cast some sort of spell that, by Adolpha’s reckoning, caused all the poison to gather at the mouth of the wound, which she then wrapped her lips around and sucked out, spitting the tainted blood on the floor.

            The blood that was left on her pale cheeks was downright beautiful, Adolpha thought, especially when Assassin wiped her face with the back of a sleeve and only smeared the fluid around more. Again, their eyes met, and Assassin seemed to flash her the barest hint of a smile before turning to do the same trick for Berzinsky.

            “Put me down! Heracles! Please!” Archer shouted, beating on his enormous back muscles with her fists, suddenly much more lively without the poison holding her back.

            “Heracles,” Gene Rum whispered, having been stunned from the moment she first heard the name out of Archer’s mouth. “My God. I thought all the catalysts for him were lost in the Greek Subcategory Grail War. You summoned Heracles?”

            Adolpha glanced at the mature woman, nodding slowly.

            Gene reached up and rubbed her brow. “And here I thought Deimlet wouldn’t find a bigger reason to hate you.”

            “Pentel? Why?” Adolpha asked.

            “You do not know? The Gum Brothers earned their reputation as freelancers from the Greek Grail War. They waged a war before the Grail War even began to acquire catalysts for the strongest Greek heroes. They managed to steal one and summon Achilles under Cabik, but Deimlet who sought Heracles was never able to find a catalyst for him, as the other participating Masters destroyed their catalysts solely to deny him that,” Gene explained in hushed whispers.

            “Then Deimlet doesn’t need to know, _verdammt_!”

            “Cabik will find out sooner or later. He’ll inform his elder brother. You need to be prepared. Deimlet now has both a grudge and a personal reason to kill you,” the Gale Wheel said.

            Adolpha glanced over to watch Assassin’s delicate throat bulging as she drank the poisoned blood out of Rottweil’s eyesocket, eyeing the girl like a wolf feasting on a deer and seeing another fresh prey. Then she pulled her lips free and spat out the poison again.

            “Well done, Assassin,” Kotomine said.

            “Shall I heal them?” Assassin asked.

            “No. The Silver Lizard has much more efficient means of recovering from wounds of this severity than even you could provide. And Archer will heal on her own quite quickly, as her wounds are superficial and she is a spirit,” the priest explained.

            “Very well. Then, I shall retire.” Assassin faded into golden sparks, certainly quite glad to have a chance to rest.

            Kotomine Shirou nodded. “Yes, please do. Now then, I believe all of us could use some time to ourselves and a chance to recover,” he said, glancing at each of the miserable faces in the room. “Adolpha von Elfbern, as the only one not to claim a room yet, you may take any unoccupied quarters in the women’s dormitory for yourself. I must stay and report to the Church what has happened and request repairs.”

            “Father, I have some questions,” Adolpha said.

            “Yes. Later,” the tanned priest said, taking a deep breath.

            Just then, someone knocked on the door all the way in the vestibule.

            This was the last straw for the hinges, which had been shaken and damaged by simply the vibrations of the battles that had taken place. Both doors simply fell down, leaving two figures standing there that all present and able glanced over to see.

            “Hello? Don’t mean to interrupt, but there’s kind of a forest fire outside.”

            There was a frightening looking goateed man in sunglasses and a leather jacket flanked by a young blonde girl in hotpants and a leather jacket of her own standing there, both simply glancing down at the collapsed doors and then down the hall at the bizarre sights that they could see. They both looked at each other as though exchanging nonverbal communication.

            “Uh, is this the Church of Father Kotomine Shirou, Supervisor for the Great Holy Grail War?” the tall man covered in scars asked.

            “Yes. Please come inside,” Kotomine called out to them, and the newly arrived duo came strolling in until they entered the chapel proper. And then they could see all the immense destruction that had been visited upon the entire cathedral, the faces of all the Masters and Servants gathered there, the wounds on them, one Servant throwing a fit while being carried unceremoniously by a completely silent giant of a Berserker…

            The newcomer man pulled down his sunglasses a tad, as if unable to be sure what he was looking at with them on. “Wow. This is one hell of a mess.”

            “Hey, this isn’t that bad. I’ve seen way worse!” the blonde girl by him said with a cocky grin. “Looks like those Servants had a falling out, is all.”

            Adolpha immediately recognized that the girl was no girl, but rather, a Servant herself. It was obvious because she was radiating mana on a scale that dwarfed what any human could possibly match, but even more obvious because of her bizarre behavior and attitude that was unthinkable even for a magus.

            “Hey, who are you?” Adolpha asked without thinking, and both the man and the Servant beside him shot her what looked like grumpy frowns.

            “Me? I’m Kairi Sisigou,” he said, jerking a thumb up at himself. “I’m the final Master of Red. Wait, who are you? You’re not any of the Masters that Belfaban mentioned.”

            “I am Adolpha von Elfbern, the sixth Master of Red,” the brunette said.

            “That’s not right…” Sisigou said, grimacing.

            “Circumstances outside of the Association and the Church’s control made her a Master instead of Deimlet Pentel,” Kotomine explained, leaning against the pillar behind him as he carefully watched Rottweil sit up where he was laying in the rubble.

            “I… see. That’s unfortunate. Deimlet is a consummate professional,” Sisigou said with a shrug. “Cabik’s still here?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then that’s not too bad, I guess. This von Elfbern any good?”

            Kotomine glanced at the girl, then back at the newcomer. “She has resolve. She won a duel against Deimlet.”

            That made Sisigou double-take, glancing at Adolpha in a new light. “No way.”

            “It wasn’t really that simple——” Adolpha began to say, but she was interrupted, and she closed her fists tightly in annoyance.

            “Sisigou? The Necromancer? Heh. Long time no see,” Berzinsky said, finally finding his voice. He glared over at the good father, everything he might have had to say conveyed by just that alone. He was more or less saying, _since we have company_ , _a_ _truce for now_.

            “Is that you, Rottweil? Hell, you look like shit!”

           “I had some fun here, is all,” Rottweil said, rubbing the terrible burns on his face with his one remaining hand, accidentally scratching into the melted flesh with his long claws. “I’ll be shedding my skin in a few minutes.”

            “Yeah, got it. Sup, Gale Wheel,” he added when he noticed her in the corner, waving at Gene, who returned the wave politely.

            “And you’re Kotomine?” Sisigou said to the priest, who nodded. “Right. Normally I’d ask for a briefing, but seeing as how things are as they are… it can wait until the morning, right, Saber?” he asked the girl beside him, who shrugged as if it didn’t matter at all to her.

            “When do I get to kill some enemies?” Saber asked.

            “You’ll have your chance soon,” Sisigou said. “But we have to make a plan. Isn’t that right, Kotomine?”

            “Yes, that’s exactly right. And before that can happen, that fire needs to be extinguished and other such cleanup business needs to be handled. But please, make yourselves at home. Any unoccupied rooms in the male and female dormitories are free to use,” the priest said, holding his forehead as he glanced out at the raging wildfire outside. “Well, now, please excuse me.”

            Kotomine shuffled out of the chapel as quickly as he could, given his aching body, making some calls on his phone. Gale Wheel was the next one to leave, sneaking out without catching Rottweil’s notice, while Rottweil spent a few moments casting strange spells on himself, causing the claws that had grown out of his otherwise normal hand to retract and vanish, replaced by regular fingernails. Then he, too, marched off for solitude, leaving behind Archer who was still trapped in the arm of Berserker, but by now quite resigned to that fact and simply dangling limply there.

            This left just Adolpha and the newcomers, who stared at her for a little while.

            “So, I have to ask. Aren’t you a little young to be fighting in a Grail War?” Sisigou asked, and this instantly earned Adolpha’s ire.

            “I’m a magus. The head of my household,” she said, more than a little venom in her tone.

            “Right, right, I get it, relax,” the scary-looking guy said. But, Adolpha thought, he was surprisingly normal for his appearance. Easy to get along with. True, that could have just been a front he put up to fool others, though that was not the way of magi.

            The blonde Saber glanced around, sniffing loudly. “Something smells…”

            She walked forward and continued sniffing like she was some kind of dog. Eventually whatever she was tracking led her to Adolpha, leaning in uncomfortably close and breathing in.

            “Oi. You reek of adult things,” Saber said, stepping back and wiping her nose as though to get the smell off.

            “Adult… things?” Adolpha asked in confusion.

            “Yeah, you know, the stuff adults do together,” Saber said with a shrug. She did not seem to be implying any sort of negativity about the idea, but still, she clearly disliked the scent.

            Adolpha suddenly remembered the heated moment with Assassin before all this chaos, and her cheeks flushed bright red in chagrin. “I-it’s just perfume!”

            “Nah, I know that smell super well,” Saber said confidently. “Hey, were you doing naughty things while all this fighting was going on or something?” she asked, grinning and bursting into a strangely exuberant and youthful laughter.

            “N-no! What are you talking about?” Adolpha yelled to try and recover some sort of dignity. The thought occurred to her that just about any Servant could probably smell it on her, or even a particularly observant human, and she could only desperately long for a bath or shower. “I-I’m going to go to my room! Bye!”

            Sisigou frowned down at Saber, who pointed and laughed at Adolpha without an ounce of mercy. “Hey, take it easy on her, she looks barely older than you,” he said.

            Saber rounded on him with suddenly very serious, very angry eyes. “Are you calling me a child?”

            Kairi groaned and scratched at his goatee. This was just like when he accidentally called her a girl when he summoned her. Saber was really oddly touchy about what people thought of her.

            “Nah, of course not. You’re a Heroic Spirit. She’s not. You’re way older than her by default.”

            “Ah,” Saber said, seeming to calm down immensely from that simple explanation. “Good.”

            Sisigou just sighed and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up and taking a long drag on it. “I don’t like that Supervisor. Something about him seemed… off.”

            Saber nodded. Her Instinct had agreed with her Master. “Yeah, he’s creepy.”

            “Still, I know all the other Masters pretty well… except that Elfbern girl. But if she beat up Deimlet, she must be a useful teammate.”

            “She looks naïve,” Saber said with a shrug. “But maybe trustworthy.”

            Kairi was just about to say how odd it sounds for Saber of all people to say such a thing, but held himself back. He could tell that would only risk getting a sword buried in his chest.

            “Hey, let’s go see if the Church has some grub in the cafeteria.”

 

Interlude 1B: The Preacher and the Sinner

            “Well, today went rather poorly,” Kotomine Shirou said, brushing one of his long white locks out of his eye as he stared out over the smoldering remains of the forest fire, which was being contained through the brave efforts of the Sighisoara firefighters. “So much for the plan.”

            “The Elfbern wench is like a perfect obstacle. She inspires such conflict and animosity in the team that it would be impossible to make them bend to my whims, now,” Assassin said, materializing beside him and leaning against the wall. She was completely clean, now, and her extravagant dress had been repaired.

            “Your poisons of suggestion cannot lull their hearts and minds into complacency if they are upset?” the priest asked, glancing over at her.

            “No. Unfortunately, with the discord in all their hearts, they will not only prove resistant to such poisons, they are also more likely to realize what I am trying to do and become totally immune,” Assassin said, brushing her hair gently with her fingers.

            “Would it be possible to bring the Masters into a mental state where they would be susceptible? Perhaps by building a sense of teamwork and trust between them?” Kotomine asked.

            Assassin burst out laughing, openly mocking such an idea. “Trust? Teamwork? Between magi? Hahahahaha!”

            The priest did not seem offended by it. He remained calm and pensive. “What if we were to remove Adolpha von Elfbern? She is the greatest obstacle, inspiring such divisiveness, as you said.”

            Assassin fell strangely quiet at the suggestion, as though she no longer found mirth in his words. “Even if it were possible to foster such a thing in those cold, broken hearts, this is the Great Holy Grail War. They may be allied now, but when the Black team falls, it will become a mad scramble for possession of the Grail. They all know this. We had but one chance to trick them, and it has passed.”

            “Then it seems we have no choice but to proceed as the Church and Association intend, for now,” Kotomine said. “And pray we win.”

            “Prayer has little to do with victory in any war,” Assassin snapped, a bit of bitterness creeping into her tone.

            “I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you.”

            “You have not,” she said, although it seemed to be a shockingly hollow lie for such a legendary temptress.

            Silence set in between them both. It took a while for one of them to speak up, and it was Kotomine who did.

            “How is progress?”

            “…The construction is proceeding smoothly,” Assassin explained.

            “You were not set back by the battle?”

            “No. The leylines provide all the mana. The ritual only needs my presence at the very beginning.”

            “Have you any need of additional materials?”

            “No. What the Association has so kindly provided is more than enough.”

            “I see.”

            Again, they both seemed to run out of words to say.

            “And the seduction of Adolpha von Elfbern?” he asked.

            “It would be an insult to clay to compare her to it. She is mine,” Assassin said with a smirk. “She already took steps to defend us today, as you saw. Soon she, and Berserker, will be our most steadfast allies in this team of vipers.”

            “That is well. As you suspected, Berserker is quite strong and one of the most famous heroes. Although, given the other Red Servants that we know will be summoned, I am not certain if he is enough to defeat Lancer or Rider in the class he is in, even if he is Heracles.”

            Assassin giggled. “We shall see. But… in order to guarantee the wench’s support, I may have to go much farther than teasing and toying with her heart. She is… surprisingly physical.”

            “Physical?”

            She looked over at him pointedly, as if to underscore the importance of what she was about to ask. “You do not mind if I am to bed her to seal our relationship by flesh?”

            “I do not mind. You may do whatsoever you please, Assassin,” Kotomine said without a moment’s hesitation.

            He did not see the subtle twitch in her lips when he said it. But he must have been able to somehow sense the feelings in her heart, because he looked over at her and took a deep breath.

            “…Assassin, have I upset you?”

            “You have not,” she said, again lying so shallowly as she averted her gaze.

            “…I see.”

 

Interlude End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the true beginning of the story. Thanks for all the kudos so far. Please don't be shy, leave a comment below if you have any questions, comments, or concerns. I will answer lore and character questions to the best of my ability. What do you think, so far?  
> This is my first work here at AO3, so I'm looking for opinions. How would you all feel about the use of music added in from scene to scene? Would having links to songs and such be too distracting from the story itself, or would it provide nice ambiance, in your opinion?


	3. Red vs. Black, Silver vs. Gold

            Her arm continued to ache, and it hurt worst in her dreams.

            But these were not her dreams.

            He stood at the crest of a hill, looking down upon the gravestones and nameless tombs of what was once the army of his forebears. Thousands had perished in the battle of merely a decade ago, slaughtered like dogs by the powerful army of Orchomenus, an invincible and prosperous city led by the peerless Minyan warrior-king, the son of Poseidon, Erginus. It was said that the gods respected great Erginus, who was pious and honored all the gods with regular sacrifices, and thus despite his excesses he went unchallenged in his conquests.

            He recalled what he had learned from the townspeople that he spoke to.

            King Erginus, led by vengeance, knew no mercy for his enemies.

            King Erginus ordered his men to steal from young and old, burn their homes, torture publicly those who resisted, and break their spirits.

           King Erginus brought Thebes low by taking from it everything, and by destroying even its people, its families.

            And then, despite Thebes having nothing left, King Erginus demanded a hundred oxen every year as tribute, a price that left the city in perpetual destitution, worsened whenever he sent his soldiers to go and enjoy themselves in Thebes, and all their desires had to be fulfilled lest they report to their King that Thebes had not shown them hospitality. The youngest and fairest girls were taken to be these men’s wives or concubines, they drank and ate as they pleased and left even the children starving in their wake, and they murdered any man who showed even the slightest resistance to their tyranny.

            For King Erginus knew no mercy for his enemies, and Thebes was no longer a free city, but a city of slaves to his crown. It was only permitted to exist because it could offer him greater wealth by bringing him the oxen, even if its husbands had to break their backs in desperate thievery and farmwork, even if wives had to sell their bodies to travelers, even if the children themselves were dying in the fields to afford such a ridiculous number of oxen every year.

            But it was the only way to survive. It was better than everyone being put to the sword, women and children alike.

            Right?

            He looked upon those graves and ran his hand over their dusty edges. Too many had already died defending their city. That was why he had not called upon Thebans to raise an army and fight for their own freedom. That was why he had come out to the site of the first war, safely away from the city.

            When he killed the Minyan emissaries, the people of Thebes spat on him and called him a monster. Even though their leader was drunk beyond his wits, raping a girl scarcely old enough to bear child, and then savagely beating her over the head with his fists when she scratched him because he would not stop hurting her, and she was begging him to stop hitting her but he would not, for he was furious that a slave would dare resist him, and so he kept striking until her nose broke and teeth were knocked loose and her eye smashed blind————

            Yes, he massacred all of the emissaries.

            He did so without a moment’s hesitation, and he told them why.

            They cared not.

            For King Erginus knew no mercy.

            So they told him.

            They would all be slaughtered.

            So they told him.

            But he, he would be tortured, slain in such grievous agony that even the gods would pale at the sight, and his dismembered corpse put on display at the gates of Orchomenus to warn all of King Erginus’s power and glory.

            So they told him.

            And he shook his head, and in turn told them something unbelievable.

            “No. I will kill King Erginus and all those who follow him.”

            That was why he took the head of the leader of the emissaries and hurled it past the horizon into the city of Orchomenus, roughly into the palace gardens if he had estimated correctly, and waited in the necropolis, in plain view of the approaching Minyan army. He had heard their horns blasting the call to arms, seen their beautiful banners cresting the horizon, and had ample time to admire the size and strength of their horses, the robust quality of their chariots and swords and bows and spears and shields and armor, and most especially to witness the glory of the giant and powerful King Erginus upon his immortal divine steed gifted to him by his father, Poseidon himself. Erginus wielded a cursed spear that had slain many heroes of Thebes, and this he brandished proudly.

            Erginus rode out ahead of his host, his horse carrying him upon the winds themselves at godspeed, and stayed in the air above as he smirked down at his foe.

            “You have doomed yourself and Thebes, and you come to battle without a single weapon, piece of armor, or even an ally?” Erginus asked.

            He looked up at Erginus, the anger in his heart nearly rising out of control, but he held it back. He thought of the gentle goats and sheep which he had herded for many years, and returned to calm.

            “Of course not. I have brought all the armaments I require,” he said, lifting his enormous fist into the air, holding it high before the King and his army.

            “Fool. Do you have any final words that I may tell the Thebans as I cut them down?”

            He considered his response for a moment. “King, you had best begin to think of a trick to play on the boatman of the Styx. You will not be bringing any gold to pay for your passage.”

            Erginus was immediately furious, and he lifted his spear high to signal the charge.

            That giant of a man looked out upon the encroaching army of thousands, and waited for the tide of bodies to crash into him. That army that had bested and slaughtered so many great warriors was something terrifying to behold in its war march. Anyone but he would have turned and fled and been shot down by arrows or run down by chariots.

             The first volley of arrows was launched, raining down on him like a thousand comets from the stars.

            He took his first step forward, and prepared himself to slaughter them all.

 

            Adolpha burst up, the sheets of the plain bed falling down around her, and gripped her aching arm tightly, gasping for air. The pain was throbbing through her entire body with every heartbeat. She would, briefly, recall the enormity of torment of the moment she shot her own arm off, and then push it out of her mind and it would fade, but then it would return the next moment, even more vivid than the last. Groaning, she glanced at the white curtains, seeing that it was still night and the stars were still out.

            The brunette rocked back and forth in the bed, sweat running down her entire body, unable to cool off even though the air conditioning vent was right above her and she had a comfortable breeze on her the whole time. She was burning up, almost feverish, and she had not the slightest idea why.

            After a little while, Adolpha turned her head and looked at Berserker, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against the wall, his eyes open and looking right at her. He said nothing.

            Adolpha rolled out of the bed and stumbled her way into the bathroom, kicking off her panties and crawling into the shower/bathtub to turn on the water at the coldest possible temperature, almost freezing. The water poured over her like ice, and only this seemed extreme enough to soothe the heat, the pain. As her ability to think returned, she examined herself. Her arm was fine at first glance, and even a brief self-examination using a spell made by healing mages to scan organs and limbs thoroughly for damage or illness turned up absolutely nothing wrong. In fact, she could not even detect any damage to her nerves; they were all perfectly intact and functional, just as Assassin claimed they would be.

            So what was this pain? Where was it even coming from?

            The only answer she could arrive at was that it was entirely psychosomatic.

            Could the memory of her self-injury be haunting her like a trauma?

            She did not recall feeling too disturbed by it at the time. After all, she was a magus. Her emotions were always 100% in check.

            But…

            Perhaps her automatic suppression of those feelings had caused the trauma to fester, grow and deepen, intensify into something similar to what modern medicine called post traumatic stress disorder. It was strangely acute for PTSD, and she demonstrated none of the other symptoms, and she was not quite having flashbacks, but it was the only reasonable explanation she could arrive at.

           Her magic circuits crackled blue under her skin, and she realized that ever since she cast the examination spell, the pain had subsided almost entirely. She ended the spell. It was probably just the cold water that did it. The last thing she wanted to think about was the possibility that there was something wrong with her circuits, which was all too often a death knell to magus lineages.

            She turned the temperature of the water to something warmer, and took the chance to clean herself off from all the sweat and grime of the prior day. When she finished washing all her skin with the bar of soap conveniently provided, she realized she had none of her hygiene products, since those had been in her suitcase, and her suitcase had been in the truck when Deimlet Pentel destroyed it———

            Adolpha sighed. She could skip a day of shampooing her hair without much problems, but if she went more than a couple without washing it all out, it would get frizzy and uncontrollable even with a brush. But then, she didn’t even have a brush at this point.

            She sighed again, louder, rubbing her eyes under the stream of steaming liquid. The larger issue was the lack of clothing she could wear. She really liked all her clothes she packed, damn it!

            She punched the tile wall, accidentally knocking a hole right through it.

            Adolpha groaned loudly, grabbing the pieces of shattered tile that fell down and hurriedly casting a repair spell to undo the damage, but some of the pieces had fallen within the wall, so she was unable to fix the hole entirely, and a small, but obvious cracked gap remained.

            “ _Scheibenkleister_ ,” she mumbled, thumping her head into the wall and rolling it around. How could things get any worse?

            Mere minutes after that, she heard knocking at the door in the other room.

            Adolpha turned off the water and hopped out, grabbing all the white towels laid out for her and wrapping one around her hair, another around her body, pulling on her panties as she hopped into the bedroom and went to peer through the peephole. Standing at the door was Gene Rum, looking as prim and proper as usual—she must have cleaned herself up and put on an entirely identical set of clothes.

            Feeling much less self-conscious, but still a little embarrassed, Adolpha wished there was a doorchain she could engage to keep the door from opening too much. But since that was not an option in the dormitories of a church, she instead just unlocked and opened the door, hiding herself behind it as much as possible.

            “Er, hello,” the German girl said.

            “Greetings, Adolpha Von Elfbern. I noticed your belongings had been destroyed, so I took the liberty of acquiring for you alternative apparel, as well as various other products you may have need of.” She showed her the large black duffel bag hanging off her shoulder. “I would have waited until morning, but I heard your shower running and you striking the wall.”

            Adolpha immediately blushed beet red. Was the Gale Wheel her neighbor?

            “Oh. Uh, thanks, but—”

            “May I come in?”

            Adolpha tried to shake her head no, but the movement must have been too subtle for the other magus, because Gene simply pushed her way into the room, walking over to the bed and setting the bag down.

            “I subscribe to a special service that delivers top quality clothing at any time of day, anywhere in mainland Europe, except on holidays, and except Luxembourg,” Gene explained, tucking a wayward tuft of her straight black hair behind an ear. She unzipped the bag and withdrew perfectly folded, plastic-wrapped black dresses and suits quite similar to her own. “It has proven quite useful in the course of my work, and I am pleased to have the rare opportunity to demonstrate the benefits of my wealth.”

            “I, um, that’s very cool,” Adolpha muttered, hands going to grip her towel tightly, keenly aware of the fact that, in her haste, she had wrapped it in such a way that her big bosoms had not been fully covered, and much of the pale, soft flesh there was exposed in obvious cleavage. At least she had her panties on, she thought.

            “I was not sure of your size, so I simply ordered several variations,” Gene said, pulling out five identical sets of the same gothic dress, merely differently sized, and doing the same with other sets of clothes. There was even underwear.

            “I, I am sure one of them will fit me,” Adolpha said, overwhelmed.

            “I also drove to the nearby convenience store and purchased these products,” the Gale Wheel said, pulling out armfuls of different brands of shampoos, conditioners, body washes, razors, toothbrushes, toothpastes, deodorants, and especially feminine hygiene products.

            “I was curious whether you were a pad or tampon girl. I bought both anyways,” she said, not even looking at Adolpha as she laid out every single thing that had once been in the stuffed bag on the bed.

            “Um, t-thanks, I think.”

            “You will not be a fully effective teammate if your basic needs are not met,” Gene said, finally turning and looking at Adolpha. “As the only other female Master on this team, I feel most directly responsible for ensuring you have no such concerns and are able to fight at your best.”

            “I’m… not sure all this constitutes basic needs,” Adolpha said, watching Gene Rum’s eyes slowly drift down to her chest and blushing even harder.

            Gene slowly looked Adolpha over with the cold, distant stare of a magus. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, but even so the girl felt maddeningly embarrassed.

            “Oh. Of course. Basic necessities. I have forgotten the most important thing,” Gene muttered, chewing on her thumbnail with an expression of intense reflection. “Food.”

            “O-oh, I’m not that hungry,” Adolpha said.

            “Nonsense, you have eaten nothing since you arrived here and that was sixteen hours ago,” Gene said, rolling her eyes. “Plus you exerted yourself and took severe damage. The healing, too, certainly would have drained you of your energy.”

            Adolpha suddenly sensed a Servant in spiritual form enter the room, distracting her from the embarrassment. There were few things that felt so immediately threatening as sensing an invisible, but immense, presence just oozing with mana.

            “Caster, I told you to stay out,” Gene snapped, and in response, the Servant materialized before both of them in a flourishing bow.

            “Why, yes, you did indeed, Master, but curiosity cannot be so easily resisted!” the older gentleman said. He was wearing a fancy Elizabethan era suit, fine leather boots and gloves, a fancy and frilly cravat, and he had bright red hair, slicked back yet still somewhat long and messy. His face was covered in a moustache and goatee, both delicately groomed to suit the style of an older Europe, and his dark eyes examined the entire room in an instant before settling on Berserker.

            “Aha! Here is he, the hero of heroes!” Caster exclaimed, holding out both hands wide as he looked at Adolpha’s Servant in awe. “I hardly believed it when my Master told me! Heracles himself, summoned into the same Grail War as I! But I can just feel the divinity radiating from this man! Of course! Of course this is Heracles!”

            Berserker did not even glance his way, and Caster’s mischievous smile deflated somewhat.

            “Ah. Not interested? Perhaps I should reveal my own True Name. For I am William Shakespeare!” the extravagant fellow proclaimed with a flourish of his hand and a bow to the musclebound giant. “Playwright, actor, and poet! In the flesh! Well. In the spirit of flesh, at least,” he said, cracking a few chuckles at his own foolish words.

            “Caster!” Gene Rum snapped, clearly furious that he would reveal his identity in such a frivolous manner. “Leave Berserker alone and leave this room!”

            “Ah, but what other opportunity would I have to meet such a legendary figure?” Shakespeare asked. “Don’t worry. I won’t peek if you want to try on those costumes, girl,” he added, winking at Adolpha in such a way that a chill crept up her spine. It was not as though she felt like he was the type to prey on her—although by appearances he seemed like a womanizer, there was an underlying coldness despite his boisterous behavior that kept him very obviously distant from everyone around him. Indeed, her anxiety was born from the sensation that he was _observing_ her in a way that felt inhuman, like he was peering into her very soul just from a cursory glance her direction.

            “They’re not costumes, Caster,” Gene Rum hissed.

            “Au contraire, madame. Are they not unfitting for the mademoiselle?” Caster asked, gesturing at Adolpha. “Such fine and delicate clothes do not suit her. She can wear them, but they would be merely a costume to her.”

            Gene blanched, glancing over at Adolpha, who was astonished that Caster had read and summarized her feelings on the matter so concisely, and even more that he spoke so freely.

            “Er, no, no, these are good clothes, I’m very thankful,” Adolpha said, waving her hands to try and reassure Gene.

            “You see, Caster? You have misjudged von Elfbern,” Gene said haughtily, crossing her arms.

            “I think not, but there is no convincing all the audience, is there?” Caster said with a grin. He glanced at Adolpha a second time, rubbing his chin. “You. You look young and smart. Have you heard of me?”

            “Uh, yes,” Adolpha said. “Your works are taught in schools across the world. How could I not?”

            “They are? Wonderful!” Shakespeare said, bursting into a victorious laughter. “And how about Spenser? Chaucer? My forebears, my inspirations, they, too, deserve to be renowned and worshiped!”

            “Who is Spenser?” Adolpha asked with a confused expression. “Chaucer is sometimes taught as well, I think. I was home-schooled, so I don’t know for sure.”

            “Who is Spenser? Who is Spenser? Alas! Poor Edmund Spenser! My all-too-mortal Muse, who died before he could complete his greatest work! The mystery of his Faerie Queen! Alas!” Shakespeare exclaimed. “Poor girl, that you were denied the knowledge of such wondrous poesy!”

            “I don’t really like poetry,” Adolpha said, and those words shut Shakespeare promptly up.

            He looked at her with a completely blank expression, as though she had somehow made it impossible for him to stay as gay and vivacious as he wished.

            “That is disappointing to hear,” he said in a flat tone.

            “S-sorry,” Adolpha mumbled, realizing she had hurt his feelings.

            “Caster, isn’t this enough fun already? You may converse with anyone you please on the Red Team, but not in the middle of the night and not when they’re in a state of undress,” Gene said calmly.

            Shakespeare’s characteristic smile returned to his face, and he immediately, with a broadcast sort of flair, angled his eyes down at Adolpha’s exposed cleavage and her soft legs underneath the towel, then winked at her.

            “Why, yes, it would seem I have intruded on very personal business. My apologies. However, I should like to discuss many things with you at a later time, Adolpha von Elfbern, from your Berserker to your distaste for my life’s work,” he said, and then he dematerialized.

            “How rude! Looking at you like that! I shall have to sternly dress him down later,” Gene said with an exaggerated sigh, adjusting her glasses.

            “No, I don’t think he did that out of attraction,” Adolpha whispered to herself. He had made the act far too obvious, and before that moment he had not even looked at her body. She had the feeling he did it solely to embarrass his Master, because even when his eyes were upon the flesh of her bust, they did not light up at all. The author had never shown his true face, his true feelings in that brief conversation, except in the moment that Adolpha had struck him dumb with her silly comment.

            “Hmm? What was that?” Gene asked.

            “Nothing. Um, but thank you very much for doing all this for me,” Adolpha said to the other Master.

            Gene Rum’s face brightened just the slightest bit with a subtle smile, though it seemed out of place on her normally absolutely proper airs.

            “This is merely an investment in the future. A good professional relationship requires that steps be taken to ensure that all members of a team are without unimportant concerns.”

            Adolpha nodded. The cold diction in that sentence inspired her magus side to reassert itself, and her chagrin faded. “Understood.”

            “I can send Caster out to pick up some sort of food from the convenience store, if you wish,” Gene Rum suggested.

            “Um. Does he know how to drive?”

            “Oh,” Gene said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

            It was natural to assume everyone could, but Shakespeare likely only knew how to handle a carriage and a horse from his life as a gentleman, nothing of how to operate an automobile. He was, after all, from an entirely different era, which was somehow harder to keep in mind with him than it was with other Servants like Berserker or Archer. While Servants were universally equipped with all the key knowledge they required to understand the modern world when summoned, such as knowledge of most modern inventions and knowledge of all modern languages, only Servants with the Riding skill were automatically granted the skills necessary to operate modern vehicles.

            “Then I’ll just have him run,” Gene said.

            This was not as bizarre an idea as it sounded. After all, even the slowest of Servants could run as quickly as automobiles, and sometimes they were capable of speeds faster than supersonic jets.

            “No, no, please don’t on my account,” the young girl said with a sigh. “I can wait until breakfast. It’s still the middle of the night. Besides, wouldn’t Caster be irritated to be forced to do something so paltry as fetching food?”

            “Nonsense!” Caster bellowed from the other room, his voice quite audible through the walls.

            Gene’s brow twitched in sudden and clear anger, but she did not let it seep into her voice. “Caster, no eavesdropping!”

            “The walls are simply too thin, my dear! I can hear you even with my hands cupped over my ears!”

            Gene, muttering curses under her breath, withdrew a sheet of some sort of papyrus from under a sleeve and began to fold it up. She folded it into a little paper cube, then dropped the tan paper that had been inscribed with numerous interesting glyphs in red ink to the floor. She held out a hand over it and mana began to course through her fingers, tracing the path of all her magic circuits, which activated the Mystic Code. Adolpha’s room was immediately engulfed in an enormously powerful bounded field that was projected from the papyrus in an exactly identical shape, and the entire room felt like it had fallen still and been cut off from the outside world.

            “There. Now not even spirits can peek in or listen to our conversation. I had hoped not to have to do this sort of thing in a Holy Church, especially since we are all meant to be allies. It is somewhat of a breach of etiquette, but it seems to have been unavoidable all along.”

            “Wow,” Adolpha said, sensing the boundaries of the field around her as she glanced around. It was actually a perfect cube, just like the Mystic Code paper on the ground was folded into. More importantly, the edges of the field were triple reinforced with spells against intrusion and scrying, and even magi who attempted to enter would likely be physically repelled by the field unless they spent time to develop countermeasures. Adolpha had seen several fields of this caliber before, but she had never even tried to manufacture one herself. Even more impressive was the fact that it had been instantly deployed.

            “Now then. It seems I shall have to go purchase something for you to eat. Do you have any preferences?” Gene asked.

            “No, no! I can’t ask you to do that! I’m sure you’re still recovering from the fight earlier. Um, I can’t sleep anyways. Why don’t I go? It’s just that… my truck is destroyed,” Adolpha said with a sigh.

            “Hmm,” Gene said, suddenly yawning. “It is true that I have not yet fully recovered. I would like to rest. Very well. Here,” she said, pulling out a fob on a keyring and placing it in Adolpha’s hand. “You may take my car. And take Caster with you. I can’t get any sleep with him scribbling with his feather pen all night.”

            Adolpha glanced at the fob, seeing it was just an electronic key for one of those fancy new cars. There wasn’t a single other key on the ring. That was why it felt strangely light for someone’s keys.

            “Alright, thank you,” Adolpha said, closing her fingers around it. More than anything, she just wanted to assure Gene that her needs had been met, as it had become more than evident that Gene Rum would not leave until then. And, honestly, she actually was quite hungry, too.

           “Good. It’s settled, then,” Gene said with another yawn. Then she just stood there, as if expecting something. Adolpha was unsure if there was something she had forgotten to say. Then she remembered her state of undress, and all her embarrassment that she had suppressed came flooding back. Clearly, Gene wanted to watch her get dressed in the clothes she had kindly purchased for her.

            It was not as though it would have disturbed Adolpha normally, but…

            Gene was just very pretty. Not enticingly, divinely beautiful like Assassin, but pretty and handsome in that finely aged wine, prim and proper, kind of way. She had a way of carrying herself, a way of dressing herself—wearing fine silk dresses, albeit _plain_ fine silk dresses, in such a way that modestly accentuated her rather ample chest, but not in a decadent manner, as though she used her attire to simply state a fact: that she was a woman and a woman of class.

            Adolpha stared at the Gale Wheel long enough that Gene seemed to become self-conscious, reaching up and straightening her glasses with one hand and her other hand moving to cover her belly. “Sorry. Am I bothering you? I am aware that I am not as young as I used to be, and I have learned the price that I must pay for having just a few calories extra to my normal diet.”

            “Ah—no! No no, well, yes, but not for that!” Adolpha said. “I-I think you’re very pretty! Beautiful, even!”

            “Oh! Are you coming on to me?” Gene asked suddenly, with sharp eyes that reminded the German girl of a hawk that had just realized it was freefalling towards the ground. “I am flattered, but I must apologize: while you are a rather nubile girl, I am not very interested in women.”

            “No, no!” Adolpha yelled, waving her hands around desperately to try to salvage what little she could of her dignity. “I-I just thought you might be upset because I was staring! Sorry! I’ll, uh, get dressed now!” she mumbled, throwing off her towel and stumbling over to the assorted clothes on the bed.

            Truthfully, hearing that relieved her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to leave that room with her head on straight, otherwise. She already had enough woman to worry about with Assassin. She could safely cross Gene Rum off her list.

            “Wait, why do I have a list?” Adolpha whispered under her breath as she grabbed some of the white lace panties and tugged them on up her legs.

 

            Caster had, perhaps, hit the nail on the head. Adolpha had worn fine dresses like those before, but she never felt comfortable in them. The long skirts made it difficult to move her legs around, and the blouse was so tight around her upper body that it felt like she could hardly breathe, let alone maneuver her arms with any degree of freedom. The boots, which had small heels on them, made every step she took clumsy. The colors were exactly identical to Gene Rum’s own dress, which felt awkward, but she could hardly complain. She had new appreciation for the Gale Wheel’s performance in the fight with Archer: only someone truly skilled could be expected to move like she had in this sort of apparel.

            Adolpha reached down and pinched her new bra through the fabric of her blouse, adjusting it as much as she could, trying to tug it up around her bust better, but it was simply too small. And it was the largest one Gene ordered. The generous Master had been ready to call up her service and order more bras, but Adolpha managed to convince her that she could just go buy some herself tomorrow. After rescinding her bounded field, Gene Rum then, clearly exhausted, stepped out and vanished into her own room, telling Adolpha to wait for Caster at the vestibule.

            It felt strange walking through the broken remains of what was once such a beautiful and glorious chapel, now utterly silent and dark, only the sound of the wind coming through the broken windows. It felt as though she was stepping over the ruins of civilization itself. It was a totally nonsensical sensation, akin to feeling haunted, but she couldn’t quite dispel it.

            Adolpha screamed and jumped when something tapped her on the shoulder, whirling to see Caster, who was smiling at her playfully. “Why, fair maiden, one might think you were afraid of ghosts!” he exclaimed, his voice killing the eerie mood and replacing it with the warmth of theatre, as though even this place was an acceptable stage for him.

            “No,” Adolpha said, catching her breath, realizing she’d gotten distracted again and again failed to notice his arrival. Or, perhaps it was more than that. Caster seemed peculiarly able to sneak up on others, though he shouldn’t have had any such skill. “How-how did you do that?”

            “Do what?”

            “Catch me off guard! You’re a Servant! It should be easy to feel you coming from miles away!”

            The gentleman closed one eye and reached up to stroke his moustache. “Why, young Elfbern, have you no knowledge of theatre?”

            “What? Huh?”

            “Have you never seen one of my plays performed on the stage they were made for?” he asked. “The Globe! A circular theater, with a circular stage! Certainly, our technology was far behind that of modern theatre, and we could not create the lavish backdrops and displays one could on a rectangular stage. We had no stagelights, no curtains, no ropes to hang anything from the rafters. Even our costumes could not possibly match those of your era. So, then, how did we perform such that we were the greatest troupe in England? Simple!”

            Adolpha vaguely remembered some of these details from her lessons, but it was much more interesting to hear them from a man who lived at the time.

            “We dazzled our audience with the strength of our acting, the strength of our wills projected into their very seats!” Shakespeare said, throwing up an arm and belting out every word as if to carry into the furthest reaches of the church. Adolpha thought it highly likely that every Master of Red that was there could hear him.

            “But that doesn’t answer my question,” Adolpha said.

            “Doesn’t it? Think a little about theatre. I’m sure you saw at least one or two productions, yes? Even televised?” Caster asked.

            “Yes, but,” Adolpha mumbled, unsure of what to say, of what he was trying to make her realize.

            “Then you have already seen all you need to see to understand! We had no curtains, no walls, no backdrops to hide ourselves behind!” Shakespeare proclaimed. “The audience’s attention cannot be divided, such a thing would be a grave failure of an actor! But people are sly, they can be bored, irritated, their minds can wander and so can their eyes. Even the most powerful charisma can fall flat on a stage if the audience cares not, if they are distracted. With so many actors and actresses for them to look at, to watch, how can one possibly direct all their focus upon the one who speaks?”

            Adolpha cocked her head at him. “Are you saying that you would reduce your presence to go unnoticed?”

            “Indeed! Indeed, a horse for this girl! Alas, I have no horse to reward you, so I shall be your steed instead!” Shakespeare yelled to the roof of the cathedral, scooping the girl up in his arms and swinging her around in circles as she yelped and clutched at his neck to hold on as he laughed boisterously. “Hahahaha! That is the way of theatre! Those who are not the crux—those who are not speaking or doing—must hide themselves in plain sight! Stage presence is our greatest tool to light and extinguish at will! It would be, in terms of your modern television, our way of focusing the camera, zooming in and out when no such conveniences existed!”

            Adolpha felt rather funny being carried by the Servant while he was laughing and explaining, not paying particular attention to his words, but rather, to the vibrations of his chest against her side, staring up at his handsome face, smelling his manly scent, seemingly entirely natural, yet quite like cologne, feeling his grip around her thighs and shoulder. She hardly wanted to, but she could feel the moisture building inside of her core, that tingly sensation of need growing.

            He glanced down at her, and she realized there was no way he could not know how she was feeling. A man like that, it was his profession, his greatest endeavor to understand people so that he could manipulate them on the stage. Yes, he definitely knew she was getting wet in his arms. No doubt, that was his intent from the very start. And yet, his eyes looked at her as empty as the lenses of cameras, as though he was operating like an automaton, his mind entirely elsewhere, divorced from everything that was happening.

            “What are you thinking of?” Adolpha asked, and Caster stopped swinging her around, looking at her with a suddenly completely silent and blank expression.

            “Why, do you not have more questions about theatre?” he asked with a chuckle.

            “No. I mean, there’s a lot more I’d like to know, because you make it all sound so interesting, but… you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” she said quietly. “You look like you’re just going through the motions.”

            Shakespeare’s face cracked into what looked like an almost sad smile. “Oh dear, is it that obvious? I must be slipping as an actor. There’s no more sinister threat to one’s performance than becoming complacent!” he said, though this time it was not exaggerated to be exciting and fun, but more like a statement of fact.

            “But before you are an actor, you are an author, yes?”

            He stared at her with his pensive face.

            “Well… yes. You are correct about that,” he said, slowly setting her down.

            Adolpha smoothed out her long black skirt, sighing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

            “Nonsense. I am hardly bothered by a young and curious maiden asking honest questions. You just seem to ask all the right ones to draw forth my repressed feelings,” Shakespeare admitted at last. “It is not you that bothers me. It is more this war. My Master. You see, I am aware of my duty as a Servant. I do intend to carry it out, as best I can. But my Master is, well, difficult to get along with.”

            “What do you mean?” Adolpha asked, suddenly glancing around, hoping the Gale Wheel wasn’t eavesdropping with a familiar or some such.

           “Madame Rum is excessively particular, scorns fun and relaxation, and worst of all, has no love for what I do, only what I can do for her,” Caster said plainly. “None of this would offend me terribly much; I had many sponsors of all kinds in my life, plenty just like her, who only cared what coin my productions could produce for them should they invest in it. What irks me is her personality. Or rather, her lack of one.”

            Adolpha shook her head in a bit of confusion. “She seemed like she had plenty of personality just now.”

            “Oh, hardly. Every act she takes is entirely calculated, right down to the exact words she chooses,” Shakespeare muttered. “She is the very picture of a prudent magus. She has frozen her heart solid, and not even my finest verses so much as cracked that ice.”

            “Really?” Adolpha asked, brow furrowing.

            “Do you not believe me? Oh, I hardly blame you. Mrs. Rum can be quite charming when she wishes to be. Just as she played the friendly mother-goose to you, she also played the lurid night-woman to me, thinking that I am a man of great lust just because I am a man of great romance,” he said. “There is little that is as insulting as that!” he shouted, and Adolpha winced at the sheer volume, afraid he might pique someone’s curiosity if they heard him.

            The girl paused, looking up at Shakespeare with a strange gleam of suspicion in her eye, something about the way he said it seemingly rather odd.

            “Wait. You rejected her?”

            Caster suddenly coughed into his hand and starting avoiding her stare. “What a silly question!”

            Adolpha pressed further, “You didn’t reject her.”

            “…No, I suppose I did not. But she was a worse lover than a fish,” Caster admitted with a great amount of reluctance, as though discussing such a matter in front of a girl was in poor taste. It was natural, given his gentlemanly upbringing.

            “My father always told me it’s the man’s job to make sex exciting,” Adolpha said with such blatant disregard for ladylike conduct that Shakespeare winced, but then took a deep breath and nodded.

            “Your father is correct, for the most part. Though women can certainly make it difficult for you!” he said, bursting into laughter that seemed to relieve much of his tension. “Think of it as the difference between a golden harp of exquisite craftsmanship, and a poor man’s lute cobbled together from sticks and twine. One is ever much more tricky to create music with than the other. I am not saying my Master was inferior in technique—indeed, she surprised me with such acts that I only ever thought French women to know—nor in body—I’ve only known a few lovers of such refined beauty and healthy curves—but there was no soul to her movements! No heart in her eyes as she, er,” Caster paused, struggling to think of how to phrase what came next, “rode me like a mule! All the while she looked at me like I was just some beast of burden, prey to be seduced and manipulated to her ends. Hmph!”

            Adolpha listened, very curious, rapt with attention.

            “And what am I doing now, discussing this with a young maiden, no regard for what evils her ears may hear?” Shakespeare said with an exaggerated sigh. “Certainly, in my day I would have been challenged to a duel by at least three bystanding gentlemen just for mentioning my illicit relations in the first place.”

            “It’s a different world, and I’m not just some girl, I’m a magus,” Adolpha pointed out, wagging her finger up at him.

            “Yes, indeed, it is a different world,” Caster said, looking suddenly very exhausted. “And what are we doing but standing around in a church hidden from time, preserved from centuries bygone? I should like to see what has changed with my own eyes, not rely on the knowledge the Grail imparted to me!”

            Adolpha realized by the look in his eyes that this was definitely something that was frustrating Caster, although he was trying to dress it up in his eloquent words and exaggerated voice to make it sound like it was just another fake outburst.

            “Alright. Then let’s go for a drive,” Adolpha said, pulling out the car fob in the chest pocket of her blouse and showing it to him.

            “Hmm! Yes, I forgot that was our mission. I apologize, von Elfbern, I was caught up in the moment. But do you know where we shall go to retrieve the sustenance you seek? Master mentioned that only something called convenience stores may be open at these early hours,” Caster said, extending an arm towards the vestibule, and both started walking there.

            “Yeah. Probably a convenience store is our best bet,” Adolpha said with a nod. Her foot caught on something, and she tilted over, falling—

            Only for a strong arm to catch her by the arm, pulling her back up to her feet. “Aha, it is rather dark in here, is it not? Best to watch where one steps!” Shakespeare said. He took a step forward, and his boot bumped into a piece of stone rubble he had not seen, and he flopped right over onto his chin. “Oof!”

            Adolpha burst into laughter, despite feeling a bit of sympathy for him. But due to having nearly fallen over, her bra had shifted into an uncomfortable spot again, and laughing made it dig into her annoyingly, shutting her up and making her try to adjust it without taking her blouse off.

            The normally graceful author rose to his feet and dusted himself off with a few grumbling remarks that were quite ungentlemanly. As a Servant, he was more likely to scrape the ground than the ground was to scrape him if he fell down, but clumsiness was still embarrassing. He turned to Adolpha, saw her trying to fix her brassiere, and his hands shot forward, pinching the cups of her bra through her blouse with lightning speed and precision, tugging them up with his Servant strength until they sat on her hefty bosoms just right, and then clearing his throat. “Shall we continue our journey?” he asked with a smile as Adolpha marveled at how easily he had fixed her bra.

            “H-how did you do that?”

            “I’ve helped men and women dress in their costumes for many years,” he said with his confident smirk returning to his face. “Costumes being too tight or large for the wearer is a constant issue in theatre!”

 

            Adolpha had never driven such a fancy car with an electronic ignition before. Nor had she ever driven an automatic transmission. Though it was easy to find all the important things, from the lights to the gas pedal and brakes, it was difficult for her to shake the feeling of her right hand being unoccupied, almost trying to shift gears with it while her foot searched for the clutch. But the car shifted on its own, so there was totally no need to grap at thin air. It was just annoying to her.

            Adolpha glanced in the rearview mirror as they pulled out of the church parking lot, catching a little bit of the distant orange blaze of the now nearly extinguished forest fire. She glanced at Caster, who was pressed into the passenger window and watching the ground travel beneath them. “So, these horseless carriages are indeed real! How fascinating!”

             “Yeah. They’re alright, I guess,” Adolpha said with a shrug as she drove. “Hey, buckle your seatbelt!”

            “Seatbelt?” Caster asked, and she pointed at the strap she had across her torso. He glanced down at himself, then noticed the identical strap beside him and grabbed it, pulling it out. He glanced at Adolpha, examining how hers was buckled, found his own buckle, and locked his seatbelt into it. “Hmm. It is uncomfortable.”

            “Yeah, but it might save your life if we get into an accident,” Adolpha said. Then she thumped her head into the steering wheel. “No, actually, forget what I just said. You’re a Servant.”

            “Hmm, so I am,” Shakespeare said with a small smile, trying to undo his seatbelt only to find it indecipherable. Becoming rapidly frustrated, he yanked on the strap with a little more strength than necessary, ripping his seatbelt and ruining it utterly. “Ah.”

            Adolpha realized what the sound was and blanched. “Caster! What is wrong with you! I bet that seatbelt costs, like, a hundred euros!”

            “Alas, I was never quite this strong in life. I still have not adjusted and learned to be more careful with my own strength. Still, I will inform my Master that this is my fault,” he said with a sigh.

            Adolpha shook her head, aghast, as she turned onto the highway, headed into Sighisoara.

            “Aha, what is this? May I?” Shakespeare asked, gesturing at the touchscreen console in the center of the car with a number of functions, from GPS to statistics to syncing with smartphones to a satellite radio function. He touched it experimentally, then frowned. “This device is broken!” he announced.

            Then she turned her attention to what Shakespeare was trying to do, and, admittedly, she was probably only slightly more familiar with touch technology than he was. “I think it won’t work if you’re wearing gloves,” she said as she passed a cargo truck that was driving twenty under the speed limit.

            “Aha, a clever trick to play on their customers,” Shakespeare said, pulling off one of his gloves and tapping the screen experimentally. He accidentally pressed the GPS button, which initialized the map function and he stared in awe as a digital map was generated before his very eyes, showing their position and all the roads for a several mile radius. “Impressive! Very impressive!”

            “It’s kinda cool,” Adolpha admitted. This was new to her, too.

            “Now let’s see… this ‘back’ button will return to the original image?” Caster asked, pressing it and seeing that it indeed did so. “Aha! Easier to learn than calligraphy!”

            “Why don’t you put some music on?” Adolpha suggested.

            “Hmm, with this music button?” he asked, tapping that and then becoming instantly overwhelmed by the sheer number of different satellite stations. “I have… no idea what any of these mean,” he said. “Genres?”

            “Oh, just hit the favorites button,” she said.

            He did so, finding three stations on the list. “Hmm! Classical, death metal, and world news. What is classical?”

            “You know, like Mozart, Haydn?” Adolpha said, then she shook her head at herself, realizing Shakespeare predated the entire classical era. “Sorry, they’re composers who came around a little bit after your time.”

            “I see! And what is death metal?” he asked, tapping the station in curiosity. The entire car turned into an echo chamber for deafening cacophony, shaking with every grind of an abused electric guitar, scream of a scratchy ruined voice, and pound of a bass drum. 

            Adolpha swerved around on the highway, reaching out and swatting Caster’s hand away so she could mute the sound system. “You blew out my ears!”

            She glanced over at him, seeing the grimace on his face. “Yes, mine as well. What an unpleasant music. Why does my Master have this as a favorite?”

            “Probably to keep her awake on long drives,” Adolpha said, thinking back to her own long, long drive to Romania, and suddenly realizing just how exhausted she was. Fortunately, the hunger and Caster’s nonstop questioning about what they were driving past kept her from dozing off.

 

            They found a small gas station not far down the highway, and though it looked run-down like most of Romania, with metal bars protecting its windows and old graffiti covering its walls, it was the only thing that appeared to be actually open for miles. Adolpha couldn’t shake a foreboding sensation as she pulled in and parked in the gravel. “You can stay in the car if you want,” she said to Caster, who laughed in her face.

            “You think I would? Ahahahaha!”

            Rather unhappy at his rude response, the girl climbed out and glanced around at the fairly rural surroundings. They were still on the outskirts of Sighisoara, and she could see only one house in the distance, and only thanks to the porch light that whoever lived in it had left on. There was only one other car parked in the lot, presumably belonging to whoever was keeping the place open. It was quiet, so quiet that not even the insects seemed to be buzzing.

            Of course, as soon as Caster managed to figure out the door and step out, that changed.

            “Ahh! The wondrous beauty of a still night! Could it be Christmas?” he asked, and Adolpha shot him an annoyed glare.

            “No, it’s not Christmas!”

            He chuckled at her, shrugging, and she scoffed and went inside the store. She was far too tired, hungry, and sore all over, and Caster was being an absolute pest.

            From the moment she pushed the door open, there was a funny smell, like burnt plastic, all over the interior of the store. Adolpha saw a middle aged man sitting in a large, cushy leather chair watching reruns of American sitcoms, dubbed in Romanian, on the old television set behind the counter. He spun around in it to see her, waved, and went back to what he was watching. Caster followed Adolpha inside in short order, and immediately went to the first thing that caught his eye: the magazine and newspaper rack. The girl tried her best not to notice when he, without looking at what he was doing, ripped out a page from a book and started using a quill that he materialized into his hand to write on it. Was Caster upset at something he’d read, and was now ‘improving’ it? Such arrogance was certainly fitting of William Shakespeare. She almost hoped the guy at the counter would call the police on him.

            Adolpha wandered the aisles, grabbing some bread, cured ham and turkey, cheeses, bags of chips, bags of salted nuts, some beef jerky, a chocolate bar, some gum, and a few bottles of water from the refrigerated section which she brought over to the counter and laid down carefully. Caster came up and tapped her on the shoulder, showing her a small pile of magazines that covered fashion, celebrity gossip, and movie news, as well as a few books. Adolpha sighed and gestured at the counter and he set it all down beside her things. She took out her wallet from her blouse pocket and started counting out euros, muttering annoyed things under her breath and ignoring all the subsequent taps on her shoulder from the obnoxious Servant.

            Then he grabbed her and forced her to look at him, and she saw in his hands a raunchy porn magazine, which immediately made her grimace in disgust at him. “A gentleman I may be, but a man I still am!” he said insistently, while her eyes moved to the small piece of paper that he had been scribbling on earlier. He was holding it strangely, keeping it at his neck, as if he was trying to hide it. On it, he had written—in exquisite cursive, despite not having been looking—a message.

            “Do not read this aloud. Master is not asleep. She sees through mine eyes and hears through mine ears. You are being watched.”

            Then he flipped the page around, revealing what he had written on the other side.

            “Ask yourself thus. For what reason would she have you wear those clothes?”

            Adolpha read the message, feeling her belly turn into a pit. How fortunate that the disgust on her face from seeing the porno mag mixed well with the shock. What a clever bastard Caster was.

            She glared at him, locking eyes, and he smiled. “Is it that offensive? I apologize. I have no real need for this—my Master is more beautiful than any of the women in this tome. Still, if she were even half as warm as these women appear to be, I might have truly fallen in love with her,” he said so loudly that the cashier glanced over at him, brow furrowing at the sight of Caster’s strange garments that were completely out of time and the fact that he was speaking English. But he was clearly not in any mood to ask questions.

            Caster returned the obscene book to where he found it, while the man working the register slowly scanned all the items. Adolpha pulled out sixty euros and slapped them on the counter and said, in flawless Romanian, “Keep the change.” The man shrugged and proceeded to slowly bag everything, then pushed the paper bag into Adolpha’s arms. Adolpha took a deep breath, walking over to the door, and feeling as though the fabric covering her body was a layer of predators’ teeth rubbing against her skin, threatening to tear her apart at any moment. Why, indeed, would Gene Rum have been so insistent to make her wear these clothes?

            She stopped at the door, holding the bag in one arm and the doorhandle in her other hand.

            She wanted to drop everything and rip the things right off herself.

            But Caster would see it, and through the spell the Gale Wheel was using to share Caster’s sight and hearing, she would see it as well.

            No, Adolpha said to herself in her head, trying to calm down. There had not been even the slightest trace of mana on those clothes and she definitely would have detected it on them with how long she had been wearing them. Right?

            Adolpha felt like she was standing on a bear trap. How much time did she have left before the trap sprung?

            “Caster,” Adolpha said, turning to face him. “There’s one thing that the Silver Lizard said earlier that’s been bothering me. He said you came to him and told him that Gene Rum was going to kill him. Is this true?”

            Shakespeare froze up, clearly struggling with how to answer her. His hands stretched out to both sides, as if trying to grab some scrap of paper to write on, while his mouth opened and spoke as though nothing was wrong. “Of course not! That Rottweil Berzinsky is a devil who made up a lie to deceive you and the good priest! He attacked my Master solely because he regards her as a threat. I assure you!”

            Adolpha smiled at him. “Oh, that makes sense,” she said, turning and pushing the door open, only to freeze in her tracks, all her conflicting thoughts disappearing because of the piercing blue-eyed man standing on the sidewalk in front of her. He was wearing a long black greatcoat; he was tall, broad-shouldered, and the black shirt he wore under his coat was tight enough to let the muscle of his chest show through. Most interesting of all, he looked Asian, specifically Japanese. But the way the dark-haired man stared at her, with airs of absolute superiority and a smug smirk, was what really made her freeze up.

            Because he was looking at her like prey. A piece of meat.

            She dropped the bag to the ground, barely aware of its contents spilling all over the sidewalk.

            Those eyes narrowed on her, and she noticed the way they gleamed in the dim light of night seemed almost like twin moons, refracting with such brilliant blue that it captivated her deeply. He was handsome, the breeze picked up a few of his raven locks and caused the loose clasps of his odd-looking coat to wave, and he oozed pure physical power.

            Stunned to total silence, Adolpha had no idea what to say to him. It was obvious that he was no ordinary man, because he stood there like he had been waiting for her. That meant he might be an agent of the Association, the Church, or the enemy.

            “You’re cute,” he said to the girl in Japanese as he peered down at her. “Wanna come to my place?”

            “Uhm,” Adolpha said, realizing that this man may not have been involved in any underworld activities. Maybe he was just a stranger driving through Romania looking for chicks to pick up in the early hours of the morning. Like a modern version of Dracula, perhaps. Part of her almost wanted to take his offer, despite knowing nothing about him. But as a magus, it was easy to quell those feelings.

            “Who are you?” she asked, responding in his language.

            “As far as you’re concerned, call me Satsujinki. I am an assassin,” he said, pulling his hands out of his coat pockets. In one of them he held a closed switchblade.

            She, of course, understood the bloody meaning of that obviously fake name. “An assassin?”

            “Yes. I’ve been hired by Yggdmillenia,” he said, flicking the knife open with his thumb in an instant and a little click. She had to admit: it looked really cool. She immediately examined him for any traces of mana, but she detected nothing. Was he even a magus?

            “Really? They would just send a hitman out without knowing where their enemy would be?” Adolpha said, tensing up every muscle. She had no idea what this man was capable of. He was probably second-rate, like the rest of the Yggdmillenias, but she was not exactly a badass herself.

            “It was way too easy to track down the Red team, thanks to the forest fire that the Association had to help cover up,” Satsujinki said. “Plus, having that many Servants all sitting in the same building is like a big, glowing beacon of mana if you come within even twenty kilometers of Sighisoara. It’d be different if you had some bounded fields up to hide it, but it almost seems like you’re trying to lure us into a trap, yeah?” the calm man said.

            Adolpha cursed under her breath. So there were still spies for the Yggdmillenias in the Association, and the cover-up operation leaked to the enemy. That meant the entire cathedral was compromised as a base. And—————

            A distant explosion echoed through the night, coming from the direction of the cathedral. Red and golden light, mixed together, glowed so brightly through the windows that it looked like the sun had risen. It could only be an explosion of immense power, the product of two Noble Phantasms clashing together.

            It was under attack!

            “ _Verdammt_!” she shouted.

            He chuckled at her. “Heh. I guess it may not be a trap after all. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you drive right out of there with your Servant in your car. What kind of amateur would keep a materialized Servant with them? You might as well hang a bunch of neon signs and a banner on your vehicle that announces you as a Master.”

            Caster came out through the other door, bowing dramatically to the strange assassin. “And that’s my cue! Hello, assassin. Shall I call you Master of Black?”

            “No. Just Satsujinki is fine,” the knife-holding mercenary said. “I’m not a Master yet.”

            “What—what does that mean?” Adolpha asked, immediately concerned. If this guy was here for her, and he knew she was a Master, then…

            Going off of his words, his intention could only be to take her Command Spells.

            Fortunately, the collar of the dress she was wearing covered them up well, and with her long sleeves, he would suspect them to be somewhere on her arms.

            “Am I supposed to be afraid of some hired killer without a drop of mana in him?” Adolpha asked, smiling a little.

            That smile was wiped right off her face when, in the blink of an eye, the man just disappeared———

            And reappeared with his face inches away from hers, the smug delight in his eyes boring into her pupils.

            “Teleportation?!”

            She fell backwards onto her ass, just narrowly in time to avoid the blurry slash of his knife, which crashed into the glass of the door and shattered it.

            “Hm? You must have exceptional eyes to be able to track the movement of my knife,” Satsujinki said with a smile down at her as she crawled backwards in fear, recognizing that this man totally overwhelmed her. He was, without a doubt, unbelievably dangerous.  

            “Caster! Do something!” Adolpha yelled.

            Shakespeare held up both hands, laughing. “Sorry! I’m no good as a fighter! And my Master is calling me! Goodbye!” he exclaimed, dematerializing, his presence vanishing soon after as he left the area.

            The strange assassin just marched right on into the shop, seemingly enjoying watching the girl crawl away from him in terror. Yes, he was definitely the kind of bastard who relished the kill.

            There was a cocking noise beside him, and he turned to see the shotgun pointed directly at his face by the old man behind the counter.

            “Get the fuck out! Go!” the shopkeeper said in Romanian.

            “Oh man, I don’t know what you’re saying. Don’t interrupt me with your shitty language,” Satsujinki snapped, and before the trigger could be pulled on him, the knife arced through the air, and both arms on the man were severed in an instant. Though flesh and bone are by no means simple to cut through with a mere knife, the slash cleaved right through as though there was literally nothing there in the first place. The arms flopped down onto the ground, and the poor man screamed in agony and horror at the sight of the stumps pouring out blood everywhere.

            Satsujinki flicked his knife, and, due to the sheer force of the motion, all the blood that clung to the plain steel was discarded to the ground in a small splatter. He chuckled and peered down at Adolpha as she blanched. “Do me a favor and sit still, would you? Your lines are squirming around a lot.”

            She had no idea what he was talking about, but there was no way she would just let herself die here. She might have no countermeasures for his seeming ability to teleport, since she didn’t feel any mana involved in it, but the cathedral was under attack. If she could just get to the car…

            “Get real!” Adolpha yelled, hopping onto her feet and launching herself like a coiled spring into one of the aisles. She cast a spell as she fled for the far end of the store, a relatively low-class one called Slick. It was an extension of Earth element magecraft and Alchemy that allowed one to simply cause almost any flat, even surface to become almost 100% frictionless and smooth. By casting it on the entire floor behind her, she guaranteed that any attempts to run, walk, or even crawl there would cause victims to slip and slide until they crashed into the nearest object, unable to alter their own momentum. No matter how fast anyone was, they’d definitely become helpless if they set foot on the affected tiles. And because it was such a small spell, it was nearly impossible to detect the effect in the time it took to pursue her.

            But—————

            Before Adolpha could take another step, Satsujinki appeared before her———

            The knife came at her like a gust of wind, something traveling almost as fast as sound. It was a speed no human should have been able to move at, closer to how a Servant would move, and yet, this man was doing so without so much as a single spell. And, at the last second, the path of the blade diverted before it could slice her neck.

            The only reason she survived was because she had cast Slick on the tiles ahead of herself as well. Though he must have seen through her trying to lay a trap for anyone coming behind her, it must have been an entirely instinctive thing, not a conscious realization of what the spell was or how to spot it. She had been hoping to speed herself up by removing the friction ahead and just redirecting herself by grabbing the aisles, not expecting him to circumvent her ploy entirely. This was the only thing that saved her life.

            Satsujinki’s face twisted into a scowl as his balance slipped underneath his legs, his knife smashing harmlessly into the aisle as Adolpha yelled and shoved past him, sliding right into the fridge section glass doors. She grabbed the handles and used them to push herself out of the area of her spell effect, feet finding friction and grip on the floor again and immediately bolting towards the exit. Satsujinki slid forward until he bumped into the completely opposite corner of the store from her, and, apparently grasping what the spell did, kicked off of it and went straight for the door to stymie her escape. When he left the area of the spell, the jerk of sudden friction caused him to roll, but that bought Adolpha only a second before he was right back on his feet and ready to do his ‘warp.’

            She made it to the door————

            And suddenly, as if out of nowhere, his elbow was pinning it shut, and his hand with the knife swung.

            But that was what she expected. After all, she knew there was no way she could compete with teleportation—but if she could guess where he would show up next, then she could put up a fight. She made him appear where she wanted him to by running for the door.

            She swung up her arm to block his, moving faster than she’d ever moved before, feeling a strange sensation in her muscles as she watched the knife tip travel towards her neck. She hit his arm with all her strength, stopping it just in time, his knife mere inches away from her flesh. And, completing the incantation she had been whispering, her other fist swung at his gut, crackling with a curse of petrification. She slammed him so hard that he scooted back, boots squealing against the tile floor, the air knocked out of his lungs. And he had no chance to recover—the curse was already turning his entire midsection to stone before he could even breathe. It might have all been luck, but she got him good.

            Adolpha dove out through the broken glass door and went for Gene’s car, hopping inside, smashing the button to turn it on, and burning rubber as she threw it in reverse and spun around into the highway, slammed it into drive, and smashed the pedal into the floor. After a second of the tires peeling out, the luxury sedan shot forward with all the power in its beefy engine, and only when she was driving 240 kilometers per hour through the night did she relax and breathe. If she was fortunate, that bastard would be a stone statue now. Even if not, she doubted he could teleport far enough to catch her.

            She had discovered a few key details about his trick: it was by no means true teleportation, which was a feat of True Magic, but rather some sort of technique of the body. That was why he couldn’t just go straight for her while he had no ability to stand up. In other words, his path could still be blocked, and where he would appear would be limited to places he could reach on foot. That hardly made it any less dangerous, as he seemed able to use it repeatedly without using any mana. It was definitely something that could be dealt with, but something deep inside her heart warned her. Yes, she knew that man had many more tricks up his sleeve. There was no doubt that he could have easily killed her if he hadn’t decided to play around.

            If he hadn’t announced himself to her—would she have even seen him coming?

            The girl realized that she had her Command Spells. She should have summoned Berserker to her location with one of them. That Satsujinki might have been dangerous, but he wasn’t even close to Berserker in power. At least she made it out of there without needing to use one. They were far too valuable.

            Adolpha drove for a little while longer, hearing more explosions in the distance. There was definitely a fight occurring at the cathedral. She bit her finger. Was her team being massacred out there? A chill crept up her spine. What if she wound up as the sole surviving Master of Red?

            Something more pressing occurred to her. Was Berserker alright?

            She checked the pass between them, their link, and didn’t feel any sympathetic pain coming through it. Large, obvious emotions like that were easy to sense from a familiar. That probably meant Berserker was fine, but if the fight was ongoing, shouldn’t she send him to fight the enemy?

            Adolpha sent a simple mental command to Berserker. “Defend.”

            Almost instantly she could feel the pass begin to draw mana from her stores. Yes, that giant was definitely fighting now. She could see what was going on through him if she used Transference of Consciousness, but that would be idiotic to do while driving. She had to wait and trust her Servant.

            She was only a few minutes away from the cathedral when she heard something rumbling beside the sedan. She hadn’t passed any cars, so it was odd, she thought as she glanced over.

            Adolpha’s eyes widened and she gasped when they met the glowing blue of Satsujinki, who was riding an almost dead-silent Japanese motorcycle, or at least, one quiet enough that the sealed interior of the luxury sedan almost completely muffled it, the headlight off so that he could sneak up beside her. He had that smirk on his face, that murderous glare in his eyes. He was riding with just one hand, holding a knife in the other. He swerved over to her car before she could even think to try to avoid him, and then he swung his arm, and the door was split into two pieces, falling right off of the car, turning the placid interior into a terrible noise of wind.

            How the hell did he do that?

            Adolpha almost screamed, but she was in full fighting mind. There was no time to indulge in her own fear. She turned the wheel to swerve away from him and out of the reach of his knife first, and then she stretched out her hand at him, chanting a quick two verse incantation: “Earth, cry and roar! Let your bones fly! _Albus Eruptio_!”

            Her magic circuits pulsed with pain, and searing heat shot through her entire body. “Hrrrgh!” she cried, almost losing control of the wheel. Just as she managed to get a grip on herself, he was already bringing his motorcycle back over across the lanes, ready to kill her the instant his knife came in range.

            What was going on?

            Why didn’t the spell work?

            The incantation was correct, she had opened her circuits; what went wrong?

            The answer dawned on her as another flash of pain shot through her. It had been so long since she felt a pain like that that she had forgotten what it meant. She simply had no mana left.

            But that was ridiculous. She should have been full up. She had only cast a couple spells, and both were low in cost. Her circuits would have restored the used units in no time, in just the time she had been driving!

            No. No, the answer was obvious, now that she thought about it. Berserker. He was draining her of mana as fast as she could produce it.

            Adolpha swerved the car over to the shoulder, the wheels rumbling against the rougher surface, watching Satsujinki near her slowly, the malice in his eyes all too plain. Only a few more seconds and he would definitely kill her.

            “No!”

            She shouted out her response to the idea as she swung the wheel around, swerving her car right towards the hitman’s much smaller and more delicate bike. His loathsome composure wavered the instant she did so, because if she smashed him with the full momentum of the car, both he and the bike would get absolutely destroyed. Yes, she was bringing herself into his range, but even if he killed her, it would be a hollow victory.

            He grit his teeth, baring his fangs at her as he pulled the clutch and pushed the rear brake, slowing him enough to pull him back behind the swerving car. Adolpha heaved a heavy breath of relief that he didn’t decide to go for the kill there, only to turn a deathly pale when he sped up alongside the other side of the car. She tried to deny him that position by swerving into him again, only for the passenger door to get sliced right off its hinges and fall, sparking against the pavement. It was not in time to stop her from smashing into his bike, knocking it right over and flipping it into a hugely destructive crash.

            But in the instant before that impact, he leapt off of it, and Adolpha gasped when he landed on the hood of the car. She instantly tried to swing the car around to shake him off, but he had a good grip, and his knife was stabbed straight into the engine block. Instantly, the engine just died, although such a thing shouldn’t have been remotely possible—how could some ordinary knife penetrate enough of the steel of the engine to destroy it? All the electronic displays just shut off, even though the battery should still have had power. More and more, Adolpha was becoming pissed by this man’s ruthlessness and strange abilities.

             Like a flash of lightning, before Adolpha could think of what to do as the car’s velocity rapidly dropped, he slashed the windshield into five or six pieces—and although windshields were designed not to shatter or break into large shards like that, the peculiar properties of his knife clearly affected things in such a way that the individual hardness or resistance of objects mattered not. The shards all fell inside of the car, and Adolpha was forced to cover her face with her arm as one flew at her and sliced her sleeve, carving into her flesh badly before it bounced away into the backseat. At last, the killer sat up and, with the night sky behind him, lifted a hand to push the wind-blown hair out of his eyes, a murderous grin crossing his lips.

            “You caused me a lot of trouble, but it looks like you’re just a third-rate magus who’s already run out of mana. What a waste of time.”

            “ _Fick dich_!”

            Adolpha threw the wheel hard right, veering the whole car right off of the road. Satsujinki had to clutch at the car to hold on with how extreme the turn was, and he glanced over his shoulder in surprise at the oncoming trees. The speedometer was dead just like the rest of the car, but they had to still be traveling at over a hundred kilometers per hour. The tree hurtled right at them———

            Crash.

 

Interlude 2A: The Sword Heard Around the World

 

            Kairi Sisigou had a problem. His Saber, who behaved more like a wild animal than a hero of legend, was hungry. Even though Servants had no actual requirement to eat and no actual feelings of hunger, as they were spirits, not humans, Saber had, apparently, decided that it was time to eat, and the cafeteria of the cathedral had little to offer in the way of quick sustenance. It had many raw ingredients and such, but he was no cook, and nor was she.

            The short and violent blonde glared up at him, frowning. “Hey, can’t we go and take some food from someone else?”

            “What? No. That’s theft. You do know what theft is, right?” Kairi said, grumbling as he lit a cigarette and puffed on it. He was sitting on a bench outside in the gardens, just admiring the view of the stars that you couldn’t get in the city. Churches were always too clean, beautiful. They always made him feel antsy, which, in turn, made it impossible to sleep, and so he had gone out for a walk to try and tire himself out enough to get some shut-eye.

            Unfortunately, Saber decided to come with. What should have been a nice, tranquil moment of alone time instead turned into noisy tantrum after noisy tantrum.

            “Well, obviously we’ll pay them back later!” Saber yelled, getting into another huff. “It’s just borrowing that way!”

            “Why are you so bent on eating something, anyways? You’re a Servant,” Kairi sighed.

            “I love eating! Eating is the best!” the girl said vivaciously. “If there’s one thing I wanna do while I’m here, it’s eat!” she said, chuckling boyishly and folding her arms back behind her head like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

            “Well, it’s not like I don’t agree that it’s pretty important,” the Master of Red said, taking another drag on his cigarette. He had gone without meals for weeks at a time during his heyday on all the battlefields he worked in as a necromancer. There was just so little time and so much to do, and basic necessities like food were not easy to come by in those absolute pits. It made those rare meals all the more worth cherishing. Eating even just one meal was like indulging in the feeling of survival. The rush was really quite something. But that was a long time ago. Now his career was much steadier, he had more resources, more connections, and he was always more prepared. He barely even had to think about eating anymore because it was almost guaranteed.

            Kairi glanced over at Saber, seeing an unusually earnest expression on her face. She really, really wanted to eat something. He thought about it a little. If he died, and happened to be summoned back to something resembling life, what would he want to do? What kinds of everyday things that he took for granted would he want to do all over again, just for kicks?

            “Heh. Yeah, screw it. Let’s go, I bet we can find a convenience store that sells sandwiches or something,” the necromancer said with a shrug, dropping his cigarette and grinding his boot to snuff it out. He started to walk off towards the door, then froze mid-step, spun on his heel, and walked back over to grab the ashen butt off of the ground and tuck it into one of his jacket pockets with a heavy sigh of annoyance. That was the other reason he didn’t like churches: he had a habit of littering and he got in trouble for it the last time he visited one.

            “Alright!” Saber said, pumping a fist in the air. “As long as there’s no potatoes in it, anything’s fine!”

            “I’ve never heard of a potato sandwich, so I don’t think that’ll be much of an issue,” Kairi chuckled, heading for the door of the church. “Oh, you might actually like fries though.”

            “Hmm? What are fries?” she asked curiously.

            “Fried potato slivers. They’re pretty tasty,” he said as he opened the door. He was about to step aside and let her go through first, as was proper manners, but then he thought better of it. He proceeded and———

            Something clanged against the steel blade that materialized beside his head.

            Kairi turned very slowly, afraid his Servant was about to take his head off. He pulled down his sunglasses, looking at the messy-haired blonde with a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. “H-hey, you don’t have to eat them if you don’t want them…”

            Her eyes glared up at him with more than a little anger. “I can’t believe this! Just when I’m about to go and get something to eat! This is ridiculous!” she yelled, swinging the sword down to her side and turning to face something else with a bestial snarl. Her armor materialized, gleaming steel bursting out of red bolts of electricity around her body. It was not excessively ornate, and though the helm bore two gnarled horns, that armor was made for fighting first and foremost, protecting every inch of her body from harm and doubling her presence. It was nothing like her sword, which was a huge sword of office, regally adorned and beautiful, clearly forged for no less than a king to wield. It was oversized as a weapon for her, but she held it with such ease, like it was just an extension of her own body.

            “Hey! You! Over there! I’m gonna kick your ass!” Saber screamed, leaping forward with a burst of crimson lightning from her feet that propelled her with a sonic boom far into the gardens. The force of the blast of her mana so close to him launched Kairi into the wall, slamming painfully into it and knocking the air out of him.

            “Ow! Saber! Watch where you use your Mana Burst! You could have broken my back!” he shouted after her, seeing only streaks of red light swinging around in the trees and bushes of the distance.

            “Shut up! I saved your life! Be grateful!” she yelled back at him as she fought, and Sisigou glanced down to see a bent throwing knife, picking it up and examining it. The damage to it was consistent with a hard impact with something. Then it dawned on him that she’d blocked it with her sword just in time to protect him. If she hadn’t, it may very well have killed him if it struck his neck.

            “Hey! Thanks for that, by the way! I mean it!” he shouted back.

            “Shishi,” she laughed in the distance. “I am a knight, after all!”

            “Hey! What are you even fighting?” he asked.

           “I dunno! Some guys in uniforms! Here, have a look!” she shouted, and Kairi heard a faraway clanging noise. He watched, dumbfounded, a blurry figure fly out of the brush and right into the wall beside him, crumpling like a crash test dummy, most probably dead. As his eyes focused on the corpse, he noticed it was some type of human—no, homunculus—wearing a white uniform with a beret. On the uniform itself was the crest of Yggdmillenia.

            “Aw, hell, it’s the Black Team,” Kairi said, pulling out his cellphone and dialing a number. “Hey! Kick their asses!” he called out to Saber, who replied only with laughter.

            The one he was calling picked up. “Yes?”

            “Hey, priest, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve got hostiles in the gardens,” Kairi said. He drew his sawn-off double barrel shotgun from the concealed holster under his leather jacket and, without even looking at the sound of the approaching footsteps, pulled the trigger, blowing half the homunculus soldier’s head off with necromancy-weaponized fingers and toes of dead people, carrying powerful curses that drew them towards his enemies like homing bullets. He cracked the action open, both spent shells popping out on their own thanks to the internal mechanisms, and pinched the phone between his chin and his shoulder so that he could reload. “It’s just smallfry. Saber’s dealing with them right now. But we should expect Servants of Black to start showing up any time now.”

            “The warning is appreciated, but somewhat late,” Kotomine answered, and Sisigou could hear the sounds of battle coming from wherever the executor was. “There’s a platoon of homunculi attacking the front of the church as well. They blew up all the cars.”

            “What? Damn it! I liked that car!” Kairi yelled as he stuck the second fresh shell in and snapped the shotgun shut. “Alright, I’ll try to mop up this end of things with Saber and get this side secure.”

            “There are two more platoons approaching from the east and west. Assassin has departed to deal with the eastern platoon. Archer is dealing with the western platoon. Gene Rum, Rottweil Berzinsky, and I have taken responsibility for the one at our front gates.”

            “Jeez, really? The three of you versus a whole platoon?”

            “We can handle it. We only need to last long enough for von Elfbern and Caster to return from the errand they left for,” the father answered. “Then we can mobilize Berserker and Caster and our defenses should be fully shored up.”

            “What about Rider and Lancer?”

            “Vor Sembren and Pentel are both still cloistered away in their respective rooms, completely unreachable due to their bounded fields. I do not believe they’ve performed the summoning yet. They may be waiting due to the fact that their Servants would both be rather taxing on their mana reserves, so they wish to conserve strength until it becomes absolutely necessary to summon their Servants.”

            “I see, that makes sense. So far this isn’t nearly a big enough deal to warrant summoning extra backup yet,” Kairi said.

            “Hmph!” Kotomine grunted, and Kairi could hear him struggling and exchanging blows with what was probably a Black Key in his hand. “Agreed. I better hang up now. Call me if the situation changes.”

            “Master!” Saber yelled. “Someone’s coming! A Servant! Up there!” she shouted, and Kairi glanced up at the moon and stars and squinted as best he could to try to see such a thing. But of course he couldn’t.

            “Hey, priest, wait, Saber says a Servant is coming,” Kairi said, and from the phone an immense noise issued, matched by the massive explosion he heard that sounded like it came from the front of the church. “Priest? Hey? Hey! Kotomine!”

            But there was no response. The line was dead.

 

            Kotomine Shirou did not see it coming. Gene Rum and Rottweil Berzinsky, likewise, were totally blindsided by it. They all felt the immense mana signature approaching at high speed, but they did not have the chance to figure out from where. Like from heaven itself, a meteor suddenly crashed into the parking lot, smashing an immense crater into the asphalt with all its momentum and weight. The shockwave from the landing sent Kotomine flying into one of the cars, hitting it so hard that his body smashed into the hood like it had been wrapped around a tree. The phone flew out of his hands, dashing into pieces on the ground, and the first heaving gasp he managed to make brought up blood from his insides that stifled his attempt to breathe and left him heaving, coughing it all out, red running down his chin as he writhed in agony.

            Gene was at his side in an instant, slapping his chest with a hand and running through an eight-count chant healing spell of immense power, her eyes lighting up with a magical analysis of all his injuries so that she could direct the restoration of his organs. As she chanted and worked on the executor, two homunculus soldiers with their halberds in hand came at her through the smoke, swinging their weapons with as much strength as Servants————

            Only for both enemies to get their heads ripped off by one mighty scaled hand.

            “It’s time to withdraw,” Rottweil said, turning and scanning the smoke not with eyes, but with the forked tongue that slipped out of his mouth and detected both heat and smells like a snake’s.

            “Kotomine needs more time,” Gene said, returning to her chant and finally completing it, the spell erupting out of her arm and traveling down into her palm and then into the torso it was pressed upon, the power splitting up and directing itself proportionally to the worst of the damage first, then less critical wounds.

            “Is his spine broken?” Rottweil asked, backing away from the site of the crater.

            “No, why?” Gene asked, only to suddenly get grabbed up by the half-scaled man along with the priest, being lifted as the Silver Lizard launched himself all the way over to the front doors of the church and set them both back down as gently as he had time for.

            “You interrupted my spell!” Gene shouted angrily, the effect undoing itself as a result.

            “I may have to interrupt it again shortl—” he said, shutting up when his voice trembled due to the huge blade of ancient steel that stabbed right through his scale-armored chest, filling his lung with blood and making it nearly impossible to breathe. He glanced down at the sword, in shock. He hadn’t even seen it coming, but yes, there it was, and there was an armored arm attached to the handle of it, and indeed there was a Servant standing there, having burst from the smoke and caught him off-guard, with such speed that he had no chance at all of evading. His hands wrapped around the blade, seizing onto it to hold it in place. “—ly. Run,” he said. He was nowhere near strong enough to hold back this Servant. The sheer power emanating from the white-haired, tan-skinned man was clearly beyond humanity itself. This Servant, this Saber of Black, he could only be a truly legendary hero. But he could still try to buy some time!

            Gene analyzed the situation in one glance, and then she bolted into the church vestibule. There really was no time to waste healing the priest, nor trying to save the Silver Lizard. Attempting to do so would definitely mean all three of them die. She could at least save herself. But this was really quite unfortunate. If only she had had more time to coordinate with Caster, to use his personal skills for her own benefit, she might have been able to do something against even that Servant.

            Rottweil stared the strong, handsome Saber right in the eyes, seeing not anger, or bloodlust, but cold dispassion in them. For some reason, Saber was holding his sword in him rather than trying to chase down Gene. Rottweil coughed up blood, grinning. “What’s the matter, Saber of Black? Do you find killing Masters distasteful?”

            Saber said nothing in reply, but it was clear he wished to answer. His Master had likely forbidden him from speaking. That being the case, it seemed obvious that he and his Master were not exactly on good terms.

            “Of course you do. So why not hurry it up already?” Rottweil taunted. That made Saber of Black grimace, and, sensing wavering in his heart, the Master kicked with his legs, forcing himself all the way down the blade with a great, disgusting noise of his organs being shredded, swinging his claws directly for Saber’s throat, which had no armor protecting it. If he could rip it up, even a Servant would die.

            Thud.

            Rottweil’s eyes widened in shock.

            Though it was just skin there, and he had the physical strength and the element of a phantasmal beast in his transformed arm to harm a Servant, his claws were stopped as though they had met solid titanium. Saber stared at Rottweil, unfazed by the sudden attack. Rather, it seemed that action gave Saber all he needed to harden his heart to what he was about to do. Rottweil managed to squeak out one last hysteric giggle of terror before the sword was ripped right out of him, though not by withdrawing it. Saber first shoved Berzinsky against the wall, and then he forced the blade to carve through his midsection to get out, tearing his torso right open, entrails and what seemed like gallons of blood pouring out of the giant hole.

            Rottweil couldn’t really scream with one of his lungs full of blood, although he certainly tried to, so he was left just twitching and struggling on the ground, hollow sucking noises coming from the gaping wound. Both he and Kotomine were now mortally wounded, and the second they died, their Servants would be left without an anchor to that world. In other words, their Servants would fade away almost instantly unless they could contract to a new Master.

            Saber stared at the two dying Masters with blank eyes and a blank face.

            “What—what’s the matter, you bastard? Af-ack-afraid? I bet your Master’s screaming in your head to finish us right now,” Rottweil chuckled, gasping out what may very well be his last words. After all, if two Red Masters and Red Servants were wiped out this early on, there was no way the Red Team could hope to win.

            Saber of Black, moving sluggishly, slowly lifted up his sword high into the air for the finishing stroke.

            Two Black Keys struck him in the head, but both shattered completely harmlessly, not even budging any of his bulk in the least. He turned to see the executor lying on the ground, arm still extended from the toss, staring up at him with eyes of determination despite his broken body.

            “…It’s useless,” Saber said to the priest as the homunculi troopers began to gather around to watch the execution of the enemy.

            “Heheh,” Kotomine chuckled, and then groaned from the pain of it. “Is it?”

            Something else struck Saber directly in the throat from the other side. This time, he staggered, not because the attack dealt severe damage, but because _it hurt him at all_. He whirled to face the other way, realizing that the man of faith had successfully distracted him, seeing the broken arrow at his feet and understanding that an enemy Servant had finally arrived. He touched the small cut on his throat, seeing the blood that was left on the fingers of his gauntlet, and felt a chill run up his spine. His eyes scanned the distance, but he could not see from whence the arrow had come. But he knew that the origin of it could only be Archer of Red. And it must have been a very skilled or powerful Archer indeed if they had managed to penetrate his armored skin.

            The screams of the homunculi beside him getting showered with a massive hail of arrows snapped him out of his awe, and he leapt in front of them, protecting as many as he could with his body and sword, swiping most of the arrows away and the rest breaking against his bulk. Indeed, it seemed these ordinary shots lacked the power required to harm him, but half the remaining homunculi had been killed in just that instant and of the handful remaining, most were wounded. “Pull back!” he shouted at the troopers behind him, and the homunculi stared at him unflinchingly. It was not that they were brave, but rather, they did not know what it meant to fear for their lives. They were like dolls that existed only to die.

            “I said, retreat!” he yelled at them with a strange ferocity in his voice and expression that was unlike the normally calm Saber. This force of his will shocked even the homunculi into moving their legs, starting to flee away. Saber covered their withdrawal with everything he had, and not a single arrow passed him as he fought the rain of death and bought them the chance to escape out of sight. Once the last of them had gone, Saber charged at the source of the arrows a kilometer away, deep in the ash fields of burnt out trees and destroyed land that had been left by the fire.

            The hail of arrows could do little more than slow him down, and so it stopped, replaced instead by singular powerful shots that took a few seconds to fire, but had the strength to damage him. These arrows were glowing with charged mana, flying far, far faster and striking with far more force than the ordinary shots of before. It was much harder to parry them, and even when he succeeded, the power colliding with his blade knocked his sword wide and made him lose much of his speed, delaying him. But he was like an unstoppable moving fortress. After a few minutes of this struggle, he seemed to lose patience, and began to allow these attacks to simply hit him, causing at worst scratches, but saving him time in reaching his opponent.

            He reached the ashlands, blocking the next arrow, and grimaced. He had not anticipated this sort of strategy. His opponent was clever. He thought he had been gaining ground, but now it was clear: the distance between he and Archer had not changed. Archer of Red was retreating as quickly as he could advance on her position. In his haste, he had let her score a number of minor injuries on himself, which his Master had been healing with healing magecraft, but his Master would not be able to support him like this forever. In other words, his enemy was draining him and his Master of mana. His own mana supply was guaranteed, but if his Master ran low, he would no longer be able to count on battlefield healing.

            Saber sensed another Servant approaching at supersonic velocity, whirling to face the newcomer just in time to match the red-lightning sword slash with his own magnificent golden greatsword. His new foe was Saber of Red, shorter than he, but garbed in a massive suit of steel armor. The first thing the white-haired Saber noticed was how beautiful her weapon was, a sword of ceremony that was rather too large for her. But despite being ornamental, it was definitely powerful if it could match his.

            “You stole my dinner, Saber of Black! I’ll make you pay!” Saber of Red growled through the visor of her helmet that concealed her identity.

            Saber of Black raised an eyebrow as their swords ground together. Of all the things he expected to hear, it was not that. It was such an earnest thing to say that he seemed to forget himself, and he replied on reflex, “…Sorry.”

            “Sorry isn’t good enough!” the small knight screamed, kicking away so that she could dash around him in a circle to try and catch an opening in his guard. But he shifted around with her, not allowing a single opening to his new opponent. Perhaps he had sensed, in the instant of their clash, that she was no ordinary knight.

            When another charged up shot flew at him from the side, he swatted it out of the air, and, in that moment, Saber of Red sensed her chance. She shot at him like a bullet of burning red mana, using her Mana Burst to the fullest and slashing at him with maximum power in her arms. Her blade connected with his chest, slicing through his armor———

            And she leapt back just in time to avoid his reprisal, a murderous slash that would have taken her head off. Saber of Red hissed out a furious shout: “What the hell? All that and you only got a scratch?!”

            He deflected the next arrow and retrained his sword on his enemy. She had managed to cut through his chest armor, yes, and even sliced his skin open. But that was all she managed. His true armor was not the steel he wore, but rather his own flesh.

            Saber of Red’s instincts warned her that he was going to attack, so she leapt back to deny him his chance, making him approach more slowly. As a matter of fact, her instincts were screaming at her of the danger of this man. She had used her Mana Burst at the maximum burst she could, and that barely did anything to him. Her battle sense warned her that if she hit him with anything less than her full strength, it wouldn’t even penetrate his skin, so there was no point in trying to score light and easy hits on him. She had no choice but to hunt for her openings and go all-out if she wanted to defeat this bastard. But she had no clue if she even could.

            The next arrow came, and she tensed up, ready to capitalize on the opening it gave, but this time he didn’t stop it. He just let it crash into his shoulder, and, having misread him, Saber of Red had to adjust from an attacking stance to a defensive one, only barely managing to parry his full-strength overhead strike that forced her onto her knees. This was bad. He just kept swinging at her, beating on the flat of her blade that she was holding up with both hands to try and desperately stop the avalanche of death pouring down from his arms. Her arms felt dead after the third hit, and her elbows buckled on the fifth, her guard falling, leaving her wide open.

            But she wouldn’t lose that easily———!

            She lashed out with an armored leg, sweeping her greave into his and activating the full power of her Mana Burst, enough force to destroy a building projected at his feet and blowing him away despite his weight, sending him hurtling into the air until he smashed down into a pile of blackened tree husks that crunched under his back. He was back on his feet before she could rise to her own, panting, her arms gradually recovering feeling as another mana-charged arrow came and he had to smash it out of the air.

            Saber of Red bristled in anger, snarling as she crackled with residual crimson energy. This bastard was really, really strong! There was no time to waste. If she wanted to beat him, she had to go at him with everything she had. Relying on her Mana Burst would not be enough. This guy used his natural defense like a perfect offense, not even needing to bother blocking their best attacks, able to put his everything into attacking. Although her armor was quite excellently crafted, it was still only armor. What Saber of Black was wearing—no, his skin—could only be a Noble Phantasm!

            Her only chance of victory lied in her Mana Burst granting her an edge in mobility over him. As long as she maintained control of the battlefield through mobility, she could deny him the chance to score a killing blow, turning it into a battle of attrition. He came at her again, and she blasted off forty meters away, refusing to play by his rules, as much as it pissed her off to admit that he was stronger than her. There was still a path to victory. And she would definitely see it through———!

            “Saber, bad news. There’s another enemy Servant back here,” Kairi informed her through their shared pass. “It must be Rider. He’s circling the church right now. Once he figures out where we’re hiding, we’re screwed!”

            “Damn it!” Saber of Red shouted. She was ready to head back to help her Master, but her instincts screamed not to turn her back on Saber of Black. There’s no way he would miss the chance to take her out. “Master, hang on. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

            Kairi did not answer her. Her instincts shot up in alarm, and she sensed danger for her Master. The pass still existed, and she was still being delivered magic energy, but… how long could he last without her to protect him?

            “Hey! You tell your Rider buddy to leave my Master alone!” she yelled at him.

            Saber of Black offered no response except for a twist to his lips that she could only interpret as a brief glimpse of sadness, or pity, and either idea infuriated her even more.

            “Alright! Time to wipe that annoying fucking look right off that pretty fucking face!” she shouted, bracing herself. Her only choice was to kick his ass right there and then so she could go back and kick Rider’s ass next. For that, she shoved her Instinct to the back of her mind. She had no time for considering what was and wasn’t possible. She would make a chance for herself, and seize it!

             She deactivated her first Noble Phantasm, her helmet, the Secret of Pedigree, which hid her identity and skills even to those who would have otherwise recognized her. Her helmet clicked and separated into component pieces, cocking back to form something like an armored collar around the back of her neck, revealing her young face that was contorted with anger. Doing this did more than just free up some mana for her to use. More importantly, it let her see, hear, smell everything much more clearly, no longer stifled in that iron prison. She would need the full use of her senses for what came next.

            He must have sensed her resolve, which in itself was dangerous, as he backed off from her for the first time since their fight began. Another arrow came for his head, and it was knocked away. But this time, Saber of Red did not try to go for that opening. Trying the same thing twice would just get her killed against this guy.

            “Archer! Stop interfering! He’s mine! Go kill Rider!” she screamed, her voice echoing around the ashen wasteland. There was no reply except silence, and a lack of any more arrows. Yes, now she could really focus on this battle, now that such an annoyance was gone.

            “You look like a dragon,” Saber of Black said, breathing deeply as he prepared for the next bout. His comment was not an insult, and she understood that. It was definitely a compliment.

            “Feeling talky all of a sudden? Shut up,” she growled. And then she was upon him like a bolt of lightning, a sonic boom exploding from around her as her mana catapulted her forward.

            He blocked her first swing as she came down at him, but when mana exploded from her blade that launched her down into the ground and underneath his guard, he hopped to the side only just in time to evade the stab she threw at his heart. She spun on her heel, turning into a massively powerful stroke right at his waist, and he matched it with his greatsword, locking their blades together with sparks flying from steel to steel. She hopped back just long enough for both of them to reset their stances, and then charged him again, refusing him a single chance to breathe, unleashing a flurry of strikes at him, some randomly infused with Mana Burst, others ordinary and only for feinting or blocking his return strikes. By mixing it up, she made it nearly impossible for him to predict which attacks would be dangerous and which would be harmless. This was the most effective tactic she could think of, and it definitely gave him trouble.

            He forced her back, and she leapt right back at him, turning the fight into a nonstop brawl of sword against sword, clashing faster than sound, faster than anyone could possibly see. Her fighting style was wild, untrained, self-taught, yet in this it had a peculiar strength of its own, utterly unpredictable. His was carefully cultivated, European in origin, a mastery of the blade that surpassed humanity itself. As to whom was the superior swordsman————

            The answer was Saber of Black. This was the clear truth that both fighters arrived at as the battle dragged on, testing both of their skills to the utmost limit due to their parameters being nearly identical. Though Saber of Red was immensely talented, and her own personal style was refined in her own way, worthy of being called an excellent Saber, the lack of polish was critical. He, in turn, was one who could be said to have realized the pinnacle of his own talent, fully mastered himself and his sword. His weapon moved with the edge in technique, knocking hers away more often than she evenly matched his. She put up an admirable struggle, fighting ferociously to compensate for the difference, but it was definitely futile. One could not make up a gap that large with willpower alone.

            Or so one might think.

            Saber of Black knocked her away with a swing that she only barely managed to parry, sending her flying and tumbling across some ashen rocks, kicking up a huge cloud of the dust. She pushed herself right back onto her feet with one hand, just in time to bring her weapon up and stop the killing blow he came to deliver. Just as she started to crackle with more red energy to counter, his knee lashed out and hit her, sending her flying again, disorienting her as she bounced across the ashes with pained groans. Although her armor stopped most of the impact, the dent it had left in the steel was undeniable, and it still hurt like hell.

            She was right back up to face his next attack, but this time it came from below instead of above, his sword carving right through the ground on its way up to bisect her midsection!

            The blonde girl snarled, swinging her sword down with all her strength, but he struck her with overwhelming power by charging up his holy sword for a blast of pure energy. Though she blocked his strike with an equally powerful Mana Burst, the impact catapulted her into the sky, soaring high above the ground, only for him to chase her into the air with a demonically mighty leap of his legs, and they locked eyes with each other. In the air, neither of them could dodge the other. This would be it, this moment would decide the battle.

            Saber read the situation as though it was in slow motion. When he closed the distance, his reach being longer, he would be able to stab her. If she parried, he would knock her down to the ground and then finish her while she was stunned. If she attacked, his skin would block even her strongest attack. She could use her Noble Phantasm, but there wasn’t enough time to speak its True Name. She only had a fraction of a second to come up with some way to survive———

            With a savage cry, she flung her sword right at Saber of Black, charged full of mana. His eyes widened, and, stunned by her doing something no knight would ever do, he didn’t have time to block with his sword.  Instead he reached out and caught the spinning blade in his hand, taking the damage to his palm and fingers that started bleeding, denying her the glory of one last good hit. Now unarmed, she was totally defenseless as they began to fall from the heights. The battle was decided.

            He neared, and he thrust his sword right at her heart———

            The tip struck steel armor, the armor of her gauntlet, stabbing right into her hand as she yelled in pain and clasped her fingers around the weapon. Saber of Black stiffened, shocked for the second time, watching the blood pour out of her hand, feeling her bones give way to his lethal thrust. And using her grip on it, she grit her teeth and pulled herself at him, ripping her hand free with her own strength, leaving it mutilated and useless as she flew inside of his guard and grabbed him by the hair and slammed her forehead into his with crackling scarlet lightning blasting right into him.

            His face bruised, slightly stunned by the impact; he was unprepared for her to start headbutting him over and over, hurting herself far worse than he was hurt, each crack of their skulls together spilling more blood from her bleeding forehead, but leaving him unable to do a thing until they crashed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of ash around them and blinding them both. They struggled, wrestling against each other. With him on top, he could literally just beat her to death with his head against hers. Just as he reared back his head, intent on finishing this immediately, she spat blood mixed with ash into his eyes, blinding him completely, his eyes burning, as her hand felt around beneath him.

            No. Such a dirty trick would not stop him from beating her. Even blind, he could still attack. He swung his head down, but he did not see that she had donned Secret of Pedigree again, and his skull clunked into the Noble Phantasm, not even hurting her for a second. Though it was only C rank, it was still an item of legend. Even if he punched it with everything he had for several minutes, it would take time for him to break through it with brute strength alone, and that would only work thanks to his own skin being a Noble Phantasm of higher rank. But he had all the time in the world: she could not move an inch.

            This was an error in judgment.

            He did not feel it when her fingers weakly grasped the hilt of her silver sword.

            He swung his head back down, trying to break both her helmet and her skull. To his surprise, his head met flesh, and she let out a yelp of agony at taking the blow full force.

            Why would she remove her one last defense?

            Saber of Red said something, but he missed it. Suddenly, the whirling wind whipping around the sword he had locked in his grasp burned his fingers, the whole sword erupting in a bright glow of pure red energy that resembled bloody mist rising. He could not see it, only feel it. But that ridiculous amount of mana could only be one thing. Her Noble Phantasm. But how? He should have sensed her pouring her mana into it———

            Wait. She already had. She did it when she threw it at him.

            Saber of Black realized her gambit, but it was too late to stop it now.

            He tried to yank the sword away from her, even though it was shredding his hand, but she held on with all her strength.

            No time, he jumped away from her, desperate to avoid a point-blank hit with whatever it was that could burn through his skin. If his invulnerability could not defend him from it, he only had one option. Was there enough time to activate it? He lifted his greatsword high and twisted the hilt, activating the blue gemstone on the pommel that began to shine brightly with True Ether.

            “Clarent Blood—” she screamed.

            “Bal—” he roared like a fierce dragon.

            “—Arthur!”

            “—mung!”

            Both of them had a ruined hand, making it difficult to control the surging, enormous power they wielded.

            But at that range, accuracy meant little, and there was nothing around to worry about collateral damage.

            He was blind, and she was dazed.

            Both swords were Anti-Army Noble Phantasms.

            Both were of the same rank, A+.

            Both True Names were announced almost simultaneously.

            But she was just a split second faster.

            So which sword would win?

            Clarent Blood Arthur was the Noble Phantasm of Mordred, illegitimate ‘son’ of King Arthur. In order to use it, it was required that Secret of Pedigree be removed. It was the crystallization of Mordred’s legend as the Knight of Betrayal, the one who was directly responsible for the ruination of Camelot, the great kingdom. The sword itself was nothing remarkable compared to the swords wielded by some of the other Knights of the Round Table. It was mostly ceremonial, a symbol of the throne of Camelot that Arthur’s successors were meant to wield. But she stole it, and corrupted it, twisting it with her crimson Mana Burst into something else, turning the shining symbol of Camelot’s prosperous future into a horrific reminder of the wretched demise of that land. All her bloodlust, all her hatred was focused into a single cursed, blood-smeared beam with the sole purpose of bringing about ruin and destruction. 

            Balmung was the Noble Phantasm of Siegfried, the great hero of the Nibelunglied. It was a sword of selection awarded to him for his fairness and impartiality as a prince. Its power was originally meant to slay armies as the weapon of a king, but he had wielded it for his entire life, most notably to slaughter the terrible calamity dragon Fafnir, and in so doing it had become a sword that killed dragons, attaining greater status. Yes, even more so than his invincible skin he obtained from bathing in the blood of Fafnir, Armor of Fafnir, Balmung was Siegfried’s truest symbol of legend, and his most powerful weapon.

            Clarent Blood Arthur was a narrow, concentrated beam of curses and malice, made to kill indiscriminately———

            Balmung was a wide beam of brilliant light, made to wipe out entire armies———

            Two enormous pillars of blinding light, one vermillion like blood and the other gilded like twilight, clashed at point blank range, so close that the tips of their swords nearly touched. Pure energy blew away even the air itself between them, creating a vacuum filled with nothing but radiance. The blinding light and echoing cacophony glowed like the dawn for miles around as two legends were recreated, an unspeakable miracle.

            But only one of those beams could be the victor. Only one legend could prove itself greater.

            It took a few seconds of struggle before the crimson energy was pushed back.

            Despite having fired it off just a bit earlier, early enough to get a fraction of a second of direct hit on Siegfried, and despite being more concentrated in power, Clarent was defeated. At this range, Balmung’s energy was not spread out at all. In other words, they could be called equally concentrated. Therefore, the more powerful sword won.

            Balmung’s downwards arc sliced through the narrow beam of Clarent like an axe through wood. Siegfried had to struggle, roaring with all his strength into the attack, but the light of ruin could not defeat his light of twilight at this range.

            Mordred screamed like a defiant dragon as she saw the golden light come down on her and wash her away.

 

            When the ash cleared, Siegfried stood over the bloody pulp that was left of Saber of Red. If she had not deflected most of the damage with Clarent, she would have been completely wiped out and reduced to dust. On the same token, because Mordred got in just the slightest hit on him before he activated his Noble Phantasm, Saber of Black had most of his armor blown off, and most of his skin was seared white, burned badly, bleeding all over, a grievous wound that made every movement pain and might have killed a lesser man, but to him, it was nothing fatal.

            She was much worse off. The girl’s armor as well had been completely destroyed in the clash, and though her Endurance was rank A, her body had been utterly broken as well.

            She wheezed out something despite most of her bones being shattered and most of her flesh burnt. “S-strong bastard,” she managed to whisper.

           And then she rose to her feet, arms and legs shaking tremendously, so little strength left, taking up her sword, completely heedless of the fact that she had not a strip of clothing left on her small, slender body. That was irrelevant. It didn’t matter anymore. Even though she could barely lift her sword at this point, one of her hands was mangled beyond repair, and everything ached like daggers stabbing into her body with every movement she made, something in her refused to surrender. This was her Battle Continuation, the proof of her resolve and ability to fight on even while on the verge of death. At B rank, only a decisively deadly blow could finish her off.

            Siegfried stared at her with what must have been awe at her being able to rise, and then respect. “Knight of Treachery. Your title is unworthy of you. It is an honor to have crossed swords with you,” he said, entering a guarded stance once more. It would have been an insult to her if he resisted fighting further when she was pushing herself so hard to have one last exchange. No, he would definitely go all out against her until the very end.

            “Shut up, and kill me if you can, invincible bastard. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that’s cheating?” she gasped out with a grin that made her look like a tiger, one of her eyes locked shut in pain, the other only half-lidded, half-blinded by her own blood. Fortunately, his own sight seemed to be equally irritated by the bloody spit from earlier, so they could be said to be on even footing in that regard. Regardless of the state of their bodies, one thing was clear: both knights had deeply enjoyed this struggle.

            But the result of this final clash was already decided. Mordred lacked the strength to even give one last Mana Burst attack. She had nothing left. Perhaps she was just too foolish to give up.

            She gave all she had in one final charge, yelling out all her anger and joy. Although her wish wasn’t granted, this was the only conclusion she would accept.

            The silver sword of ruin and the golden sword of royalty met for one final exchange, sparks flying between both knights as they matched each other with equal blows. Soon, Siegfried locked the crossguards of both blades together, twisted and lifted his sword, and wrenched Clarent free from Mordred’s hand as she faltered without the weight of it to carry her onward. He ran her through in the next instant, stabbing her right through the heart and then pulling the blade free. She collapsed to her knees as her sword landed tip-down in the dirt, standing beside its master as she waited for Saber of Black to reap her head.

            “Heh. Sorry, Master,” she said with a long sigh and a cough. Then she whispered something.

            Balmung dropped down and slashed through her neck. Her head sailed off her shoulders, falling to the earth, and then both she and her sword faded from the world.

            Siegfried stood there with a pensive stare, steam still rising from his burns, watching the place where Saber of Red once knelt, unknowable thoughts crossing his mind. It was like he was admiring the unmarked grave of a great hero. Instead of the tomb that the Knight of Betrayal deserved, all she had was an ocean of grey ash. He lifted his sword to clean the blood off of it, but that red fluid, too, had vanished along with its owner.

 

End of Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the Great Holy Grail War is kicked off in earnest. 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment below if you have any questions, thoughts, or criticisms to share.


	4. A Traitor

Interlude 3A: Reckoning in the House of God

 

            Kairi Sisigou raced through the halls of the cathedral. He kept re-dialing Kotomine’s phone, then Rottweil’s phone, then Gene’s phone, receiving absolutely no answer from any of them, and grinding his teeth together in concern.

            “Master, I finished wiping out the weaklings over here!” Mordred told him through their mental link. “Should I come with you?”

            “No, deal with the Servant that attacked! His signature is heading away from the church,” Kairi told her.

            “I know, I can sense him over there fighting Archer! I’ll take care of him right now!”

            “Hey, be careful! We don’t know that Servant’s capabilities yet! Play it safe for now!” Kairi said, rounding a corner and spotting a couple enemy homunculi who had smashed through the stone wall with their brute strength and their halberds. Combat homunculi were known to be able to attain physical capabilities close to, or on rare occasions, on par with Servants. Kairi recalled from the files he had been given by the Association that Yggdmillenia had in its ranks at least one expert alchemist who had supposedly stolen the secrets of the Einzberns, the undisputed best manufacturers of homunculi in the world. No wonder these toy soldiers were so high quality, even if, Kairi noted to himself as he smiled and raised his shotgun, they still were no match for a first-rate magus.

            Boom.

            The homunculi tried to dodge and swat away the cursed corpse fingers flying at them, but they could not outrun what amounted to homing, high caliber bullets, even if they were subsonic. The projectiles tore through their flesh worse than any ordinary bullet because he used necromantic processes to age the bones to an extremely brittle state, acting like superior hollow point rounds that fractured inside the target and caused as much damage as conceivably possible. Furthermore, the curse he applied to the fingers forced them to tunnel and rip straight towards the heart no matter where the ‘bullet’ entered, which meant that if they entered the target anywhere in the midsection, most of their chest cavity would be shredded. Both troopers collapsed with blood pouring out of the entry wounds in their torsos, dead in mere seconds.

            Kairi leapt over their bloody corpses before they had even hit the ground, bounding into the chapel and sliding across the smooth wood floor of the sanctuary before leaping over a destroyed column and sprinting for the front doors. He reloaded his gun without slowing a single step. He could do that blindfolded, one-handed, and upside down with ease thanks to his endless practice and experience, and by the time he hit the doors, he kicked them open and leveled his gun at the pair of stray homunculus soldiers nearing the bodies of both Kotomine and Berzinsky and blew them away, too.

            “You are late,” Father Kotomine said where he was laying, very obviously and gravely wounded given the blood he kept coughing up and his inability to move an inch. “I ran out of Black Keys.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Kairi said, reloading and scanning the parking lot and nearby foliage for any signs of more hostiles.

            “There are no more in the area for now,” Kotomine said with a grunt of pain. “Saber of Black told them to retreat, so they retreated. But they may return soon.”

            “Saber of Black? They sent their Saber after us? Not Lancer?” Kairi asked, surprised. Usually Lancers, a class renowned for their speed and agility and reliability, were more often used as advance forces since they could be counted on to escape safely even when outnumbered and outmatched.

            “Yes. And he’s ridiculously strong,” Kotomine said. “But I can explain more when we’re safely inside.”

            “Got it,” Kairi said, glancing over at Berzinsky and seeing what had happened to his torso. “Holy shit! You alive, Silver Lizard?”

            Kotomine was in no condition to scold Kairi for his choice of words, but he still winced.

            “For now,” Rottweil wheezed, head pressed into the ground, his arms both wrapped around the gaping hole as best as he could. It was absurd to think that he could still live with a wound that severe, but then Kairi reminded himself that this was the Silver Lizard he was dealing with. Survival was something of that man’s specialty.

            “Well… alright. Don’t hate me for this,” Sisigou muttered, picking Rottweil up to carry him inside, and the poor man screamed in agony just from being moved at all, but certainly lacked the strength in his condition to fight back.

            The necromancer slowly brought both the wounded Masters inside, taking them to the men’s bathroom which was the nearest and most secluded spot he could think of, being right next to the entrance. The ones he carried certainly could not hope to survive being moved much further than that, and most importantly this kept them out of plain sight of the enemy.

            “Well,” Sisigou mumbled, looking at the state of both his comrades, “I’m a necromancer, not a healer. There’s some overlap, sure, but I can’t fix anything this bad.”

            “I can heal this, don’t bother me and let me focus! Worry about the priest,” Rottweil hissed in agony as he slowly squirmed on the floor, red blood painting the white tiles beneath him.

            “I’ll… be fine,” Kotomine insisted.

            “No way you’re gonna be fine,” Kairi said. It was obvious the man was dying.

            “No need to worry. Assassin’s here,” the priest said, and Kairi suddenly felt an immense presence behind him, whirling to see Assassin of Black who casually strolled into the bathroom and glanced at her wounded Master.

            “I’ve finished dealing with the platoon to the east, Master. Let me repair your injuries,” the breathtakingly beautiful temptress said, strutting up to him and sitting down on her knees to hold her hands just over his body and shut her eyes. She spoke a short magical incantation, and a powerful burst of mana flowed over her Master, traveling directly to the worst of his wounds and starting to heal them at a rapid rate. It only took a few minutes, and then Kotomine was sitting up again, sweating slightly from his exhaustion but physically almost entirely recovered.

            “Thank you, Assassin,” the tanned priest said with a smile at her, which she did not return.

            “Shall I also tend to the other?”

            “That’s up to him. Silver Lizard, my Servant could heal you much faster than your own magecraft, if you desire it,” Kotomine said.

            “You keep your filthy hands away from me. Not letting an Assassin toy with my body,” Rottweil groaned in pain. His skin was starting to fray, flaking off around him.

           “How many hours will it take you to heal this way? Is there no risk of death in the process?” Kotomine asked.

            “I think he’ll be fine,” Kairi interjected. He had seen the process before; it was definitely already well underway, which meant Rottweil was likely to be fine so long as he was not disturbed. “We just need to cover him until he finishes.”

            “The battle may already be long over by the time he completes his spell,” Kotomine said with a sigh. “But very well.” He rose to his feet. “Assassin, prepare to engage Saber of Black.”

            “My Saber is already fighting him,” Kairi said. “Just the glimpses of the fight I’ve taken through her eyes, it’s clear he’s one strong bastard.”

            “Archer is fighting as well, but she has voiced the concern that she has poor affinity against him,” Rottweil added from the corner as he squirmed.

            “Hm. Where’s Gale Wheel gone?” the necromancer asked.

            “She fled. No doubt she’s hiding out somewhere in the cathedral waiting for the battle to blow over,” Rottweil growled.

            “No word about Caster and von Elfbern?” Kairi asked.

            “None. But I doubt either of them would be of much use in a real battle like this,” Kotomine said.

            “Master, my flocks have spotted two more enemy formations coming from the gardens,” Assassin said. “Two platoons’ worth. Ah. And it would seem the one who dropped off Saber has finally decided to descend to the battle as well.”

            “Dropped off Saber?” Kairi asked, and then he felt the huge force of mana diving down from above. “What the hell! Another enemy Servant? Rider?”

            “Indeed, it must be Rider of Black. He is currently riding his mount,” Assassin explained.

            “That explains why his mana signature is so huge,” Kairi muttered. “How do we deal with this?”

            “Assassin, we have to count on you to engage Rider,” Kotomine said, showing not an ounce of doubt in her ability to do so.

            “Of course, Master.”

            “Are you kidding?” Sisigou asked, astonished. It was not exactly common for Assassins to be able to put up good fights against Riders. The issue lied in the fact that a Rider on their mount, which was usually their Noble Phantasm, had unmatched mobility amongst Servants on the battlefield. It was usually inconceivable to set up some kind of ambush on a Rider when they could just ride or fly away in an instant. If the Rider was not on their mount at the time, the circumstances were very different, but they did not have that opportunity.

            “Assassin will handle it. We have our own issues to deal with; if those homunculi platoons find us, Rider would be able to target us,” Kotomine said, and Kairi groaned in recognition of the problem. Right, even if Assassin engages Rider, if Rider learns where the Masters are holed up, he can just stampede them with his mount and wipe out half the Red Team in an instant. Riders were scary.

            “Hey, isn’t this about the time that we should bring in our own Rider or Lancer?” Kairi asked.

            “I’ve already tried several times to contact both Vor Sembren and Pentel, but it would seem something has cut them off from magical communications. It may be some sort of jamming spell cast by the enemy Caster,” Kotomine explained. “For now, we still have the advantage in numbers of Servants. Let us try to hold out just a little longer. If possible, we should try to reach their quarters and enlist their aid. But those soldiers might get in the way.”

            “Jeez,” Kairi said, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his sunglasses and then straightening them out. “Alright, fine. Let me tell Saber about what’s going on.”

            He raised his voice through the pass between them. “Saber, bad news. There’s another enemy Servant back here. It must be Rider. He’s circling the church right now. Once he figures out where we’re hiding, we’re screwed!”

            “Damn it!” Saber of Red shouted back through the link. “Master, hang on. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

            Kairi was about to tell her not to worry about him, but then he felt the full brunt of Rider’s aura of mana bearing down upon all of them.

            “Shit! He found us!” Kairi shouted, immediately running for the exit of the bathroom.

            What in the world had tipped off their location? Assassin was concealing her presence with her Class Skill, as well as that of the Masters in there with her magecraft. It shouldn’t have been possible for Rider to find them without actually setting foot in the cathedral.

            But it was far too late to ask why or how. The necromancer didn’t even make it a second step before the roof itself was blown away under the immense power of a fantastical mount. They were fortunate that the mount itself was so strong, because it shattered all the metal and stone and piping that could have crushed the Masters below instead of just knocking it all down, bringing with it an immense shockwave of wind and power that stunned everyone in the bathroom all at once as the beast dug its talons into the wall that it perched itself on to look down at its prey, letting out the terrible, monstrous cry of an eagle.

            A hippogryff. A phantasmal beast that should have been an impossible existence, crossbred from both horse and gryffon. The hippogryff was a mysterious creature that even magi doubted could be real. To face such a creature in the flesh, and to see its great power firsthand, could be called a miracle in and of itself. And to imagine what sort of hero could have tamed such a beast inspired the deepest terror in the hearts of everyone present.

            Only, in defiance of their expectations, a pink-haired head leaned out over the bulk of the beast, the leather of the saddle crinkling under the Rider as he peeked at everyone gathered below him. Kairi froze in confusion at the sight of it, because that face looked like it belonged to… a girl? A boy? Who the Hell? What?

            “Huh, where’d that paper airplane go? Oh well. Hi! I’m As—err, Rider of Black! Um, could you all just stay right there? I was ordered to kill you guys, so… even though I really don’t want to, I guess I have to! Right?” the youthful, vaguely boyish but arguably girly face asked, chattering at his enemies like they were old friends. His long pink braid flapped around in the night wind behind him, so long that it created even more uncertainty as to his true gender.

            “Why are you asking us?” Kotomine asked, as cool as ice even when right underneath certain death.

            Kairi wished he could have that confidence. He was ready to bolt out of the room to try and escape, but got the feeling from the way the giant hippogryff was looking at him that it could smell his fear and that it was ready to pounce down and rip him to shreds the second he so much as twitched funny.

            “I don’t know! It’s just wrong, isn’t it?” Rider said, seemingly more confused at the moment than anyone else. “I don’t mind fighting other Servants, but am I really supposed to just kill Masters, even if it’s the easy way to win?”

            “Generally, murder is wrong, yes,” Kotomine said, holding out a hand.

            Rider immediately began to stammer and struggle to say anything at all, practically falling apart after being told such a simple truth.

           Kairi gave the priest a thumbs up, surprised, but not unhappy, with this turn of events that kept them all alive.

            “However, even the scriptures note the difference between war and murder. Masters in a Holy Grail War are rarely innocent beings; after all, we would surely order our own Servants to kill your Master if we had such an opportunity. I would suggest you take a moment and consider that for yourself. I can assure you, no one in this room is without deep sin,” Kotomine explained.

            Kairi turned his thumbs up to a thumbs down. What the Hell was wrong with this guy to be giving actually good advice to the enemy when they were about to do something conveniently stupid? Did he take his job as a preacher that seriously? Even though he was a heretic in his own faith for practicing magecraft?

            “Oh. Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Rider of Black said, but still he seemed very conflicted about the idea. “But I’m a knight… I’m supposed to protect those weaker than myself, not hurt them!”

            The necromancer, becoming increasingly desperate, glanced at Rottweil, who was completely silent and not even paying attention to anything, then at Assassin, and realized Assassin had vanished since before the hippogryff tore its way into the room. Right, if Rider had seen Assassin there, he likely would have immediately tried to defeat her rather than engaging in what was technically a civil discussion about the morality of killing Masters. That was also why Kairi was hesitant to spend a Command Spell to summon Saber to his location immediately; if he brought her there, although she might be able to react in time to save them from Rider, there was a risk that Rider would be just a split second faster in reacting and killing them all with his mount. Moreover, his Saber was keeping Saber of Black occupied, which was vital to their survival as well. Was the risk worth it?

            Suddenly Rider twitched and starting talking to seemingly no one at all, but they all knew he was communicating with his Master. “I know, I know! Stop yelling, please! It’s not worth a Command Spell!” Rider exclaimed, pouting heavily. “It’s not like they can escape right now!”

            In that moment of distraction, everyone in the room felt the wind shift unnaturally, and the hippogryff suddenly reared back with an immense screech, Rider trying to keep the creature under control by yanking his reins, but to the pink-haired knight’s surprise, the mount lost its balance and fell backwards on top of him. Rider and his mount fell out of view and to the ground on the other side of the wall with a loud thud, and Kairi saw Assassin appear out of the shadows beside where the hippogryff had been perched with a smug grin on her face and a bit of blood on the spike in her palm, and he understood what had happened. She had executed a near-perfect sneak attack.

            “Hippogryff! Hippogryff! What’s wrong!” Rider shouted in a mix of pain and confusion.

             Kairi turned to Kotomine, only to find that he had already bolted out of the restroom without making a single noise at all. Damn executors were always so sneaky.

            The necromancer followed, hearing Assassin and Rider engage in battle behind him. He was not worried about Rottweil in the least; he could sense Assassin drawing Rider away from the bathroom and off towards the gardens at the rear of the cathedral. Unfortunately, that was also the direction Kairi and Kotomine were headed to get to the men’s rectory.

            The two Masters barely made it into the chapel before the homunculi that Assassin warned about started to pour in from the other side.

            “Oh, great,” Kairi said with oozing sarcasm, sprinting to avoid the long-range attack spells, bolts of pure force that smashed the rubble like it was nothing, that started to rain at both him and Kotomine. Both took cover behind nearby stone pillars, acceptable enough cover for the time being, but immediately the homunculi began to advance, filling up the chapel and preparing to surround and cut off both Masters.

            “You got any bright ideas?” Kairi shouted over to Kotomine amidst the roar of the energy bolts hammering the pillars.

            “I’m still out of Black Keys,” Kotomine replied, shrugging.

            “Yeah, yeah. Alright, guess I’d better bring out some heavier firepower,” the necromancer said with a savage grin that reminded the priest of a predator about to hunt its prey. Kairi withdrew from his jacket two disgusting corpse hearts that had been filled with teeth and nails of the dead. Fortunately, despite looking like something a horrific monster would throw up, they only smelled like formaldehyde. Kairi injected a unit of mana into each of them, and suddenly the hearts began to beat again, loudly thumping, and he tossed both of them around the pillar and right to the feet of the encroaching soldiers.

            Boo-boom.

            The screams of the dying dolls were not what made Kairi Sisigou break out into a cold sweat.

            It was the enormous explosion in the distance, almost a mile away, that chilled him to the bone.

            A burst of red and gold energy so great that it looked like a bloody dawn filled the night for miles around, and Kairi slowly turned and witnessed it with wide eyes, pulling down his sunglasses.

            “Saber! Are you alright!?” he bellowed, trying to contact her through their pass, but he received no response. He felt her suddenly draw enormous mana from him, fitting given the fact that she had definitely just used her Noble Phantasm… and as the connection deepened to allow for the mana to flow, he felt just a glimpse of the sheer agony wracking Saber’s body, the desperation but also resolve in her heart, that she was still fighting, struggling with absolutely everything she had, and losing.

            No. He would not lose her.

            “Saber! Pull out! Now!” he yelled, lifting his hand to summon her to his side with a Command Spell, only for a homunculus soldier to appear from behind the pillar, raising his halberd high and bringing it down in a diagonal slash.

            Such misfortune. He only needed one more second, but he didn’t have the time.

            He raised his arm to defend himself without thinking. The halberd’s blade carved through his limb and the Command Spell did not fully activate, even though it only took a moment to do so.

            “Ghrk,” Kairi groaned, watching his arm fly several feet over to the ground as the soldier drew back and lifted his weapon for the killing blow. But he didn’t care about that. He shot the soldier with his shotgun without even looking at him, stooping over weakly, dropping the gun carelessly and crawling towards his own limb. Everything hurt like hell and he needed to stop the bleeding. No, he did not care about that. If he could just reach his arm, he could reanimate it with necromancy and activate the Command Spell————!

            And then, he heard her whisper.

            “Sorry, Master.”

            “No! Saber, hngrk, hold—on—!”

            Then, as quiet as a mouse:

            “He’s Siegfried.”

            And then the pass closed with just one final pang of emotion shared between them.

            Regret.

 

End of Interlude

 

            The first thought that crossed Adolpha’s mind was that the airbag did not deploy, and she knew this because her head was resting on the steering wheel, no air cushion to be found. It took her a few seconds to figure out why by going through a few basic facts her father once taught her while maintaining the family truck. Most airbag deployment sensors were reliant on electricity supplied by the battery to function, so although they could deploy even when the car was off, if the battery was disconnected or completely dry, the sensor would no longer work properly and the odds of deployment even in a total wreck approached zero.

            The second thought she had was that her magic crest should have been automatically encouraging her body to heal by circulating mana through her body, a common function of many crests, but for some reason it was not.

            It took her a few more seconds to open her eyes, the stinging agony coursing through her forehead telling of the massive bruise she must have from slamming the steering wheel. Everything around her felt light and strangely smooth, like time was traveling at twice the speed, yet she could not remember one moment to the next clearly, which she recognized as the telltale symptoms of a concussion.

            She could not think clearly, so she started moving on instinct. She had crashed into the tree and survived, but only thanks to her seatbelt. She looked around, spotting and hearing no sign of the hitman. Even if he was a total freak of physical ability, there was no way he could handle getting sent flying at well over a hundred kilometers an hour. Her arm was bleeding, she remembered, from the glass shard that had stabbed it, but the bleeding wasn’t bad. She tried to cast a healing spell on it, but her magic circuits flared up in pain and protest. Yes, she was still completely dry on mana. That was fine. If anything, she should be casting curative magics on her concussion, a far more concerning injury. She hoped beyond all hope that there was no hemorrhage inside her skull; such a wound was beyond her skill to heal even if she did have the mana for it, and it would mean she only had a few hours to live at most without expert medical care.

            She breathed deeply to gather herself, unbuckled her seatbelt, and opened the door, falling out of the car and onto the ground, leaves crinkling underneath her body. Nothing was moving like it should be. She felt drunk, though she actually had no idea what being drunk was like. It just felt similar to what she’d heard about it. Her arms were jelly and her legs flopped uselessly beneath her whenever she tried to rise to her feet.

            No, Adolpha thought. She was not concentrating. This was not a totally debilitating injury. As a magus, she could definitely power through this if she could just focus.

            She spent several minutes just laying there, fighting against her own dizziness, trying to clear her mind and put strength back into her limbs. The discomfort and daze faded slowly at first, but as she started to truly recover, it all seemed to slip away at once. She climbed to her feet, the headache in her skull worsening as she started to move again, but now at least able to think.

            The woods around her were unfamiliar, but she remembered how close she was to the cathedral. She just had to travel east, a direction she was able to surmise from the stars and the highway, and she would no doubt soon reach it.

            The girl slowly, carefully walked forth into the woods, keeping her eyes and ears open for danger. Part of her was certain that Satsujinki was done with, but another part of her feared, however irrationally, that he had not only survived, but remained mostly unhurt and would hunt her down. She let herself giggle at the absurd thought. The hitman would have just slit her throat while she was out if he was alive and able.

            “What’s so funny?” a man said in Japanese behind her.

            Adolpha whirled to face him, and she nearly threw up. He was standing right there, his piercing blue eyes staring into her soul as she slowly stepped backwards. Though his clothes were roughed up some, he showed no signs of injury.

            Had he really just been stalking her through the forest all this time?

            Did he watch her reeling on the ground for all that time, utterly helpless, far too easy to kill?

            “No, no way, you’re a hallucination right?” Adolpha groaned, holding her head.

            “Nope. Flesh and blood,” Satsujinki said with a shrug. He extended his knife towards her. “I can prove it if you want.”

            “No, thanks,” Adolpha said, feeling bile rise at the back of her throat again. “Why am I still alive?”

            “Eh, I don’t really like killing young girls,” Satsujinki said with a shrug. “But more importantly, I have an offer to make you.”

            The hairs on the back of Adolpha’s neck stood on end, and she felt like she knew exactly what he was about to say to her. He was about to ask for her command spells and her Servant by extension. She was sure of it.

            He smiled at her, smug and arrogant, like he was looking at trash. “Come over to the Black Team. Darnic Yggdmillenia is very kind to mediocre magi like yourself, so long as you prove your loyalty. You don’t belong on the Red Team with all those professionals. They’ll kill you the instant you stop being useful to them.”

           Adolpha grit her teeth. Was he making fun of her? He said all these things like she didn’t know them already, like she wasn’t well aware of the fact that she was on a team full of cold-blooded murderers, all hellbent on getting the Grail.

          “Stop screwing around!” Adolpha yelled. “You think I’d ever be trustworthy if I pulled something like that?”

            Satsujinki laughed out loud. “Trustworthy? No magus is trustworthy. Darnic doesn’t give a damn if you were an enemy once. Plenty of the families he’s taken into his clan were once opposed to him. That’s just the way the world of magi works.”

            “Then why should I care? Why not stay with the team of first-rate pros who could slaughter the Black Team with ease?” Adolpha asked in frustration.

            “The difference is that Darnic has plenty of use for second-rates like yourself, but the Association’s Red Team probably wishes you never existed at this point,” Satsujinki said, starting to fiddle around with his knife idly, testing its sharpness, folding it in and out. “Heh. Let’s say you stick around until the very end of the war, and the Red Team triumphs over the Black Team. Do you honestly believe you have a shot at getting the Grail versus whoever the survivors of the Red Team might be? Do you think there’s a single Master there who you can defeat?”

            Adolpha tensed up. He might as well have been stabbing her in the heart.

            “That’s what I thought. See, if you join the Black Team, and Black Team wins, which it would have excellent odds of doing if it stole a Master and Servant from the Red Team, then you would only really have to worry about beating Darnic and Fiore Yggdmillenia, who are the real talents of the Black Team.”

            “Should you really be telling me this?” Adolpha asked with a smile that was mostly a bluff.

            Satsujinki just shrugged. “It’s not some kind of grand secret. The Association definitely told everyone on the Red Team about that. Except for you, I’m guessing?”

            Adolpha tried not to let the simmering annoyance boil over into her expression. “I only just joined the Red Team today. I haven’t had a chance to be properly briefed.”

           “If you only joined it today, then how about joining the Black Team tomorrow?” Satsujinki suggested plainly, closing his knife and sticking it in his pockets along with his hands. “Go on, think it over.”

            She really had to consider what the hitman was saying. Honestly, the bastard was right in a lot of ways. Staying with the Red Team would be, at best, only a short-term benefit, and in the end she was better off trying to destroy the Red Team instead. But, all that said, she did not buy this sudden offer. Something was not quite right.

          “Why not just steal my Command Spells?” Adolpha asked. “You’re looking to become a Master, aren’t you?”

            “I don’t really want to be the Master of Caster. Especially not a coward like that guy,” Satsujinki said. “No, I want an Assassin.”

            “So you’re aiming to take Assassin of Red?”

            “Or Black. Doesn’t really matter to me,” the mercenary said.

            “You’d kill your own team member?”

            “If necessary, yes. That was part of the deal. Let’s just say I’m not enough of an idiot to try and fight in a Grail War for Darnic without a Servant of my own, and he understands that. The rat weakling he’s got as Master of Assassin right now is pure trash compared to me, anyways. It’s all sanctioned.”

            “Yeah, I really want to join the Black Team now…” Adolpha muttered sarcastically.

            “Oh, don’t worry about yourself. You’re pretty quick on your feet for a novice. I wouldn’t even be talking to you right now if I wasn’t impressed. My word counts for a lot, so if I’m the one who introduces you to Darnic, you’ll have a nice recommendation. Besides, it’s not like first-rate mercenaries like myself grow on trees. Many of the best are on the Red Team already.”

            “And why didn’t you take the Association’s contract, then?” Adolpha asked, feeling sly. “Not one of the best?”

            “Oh, I’m definitely the best,” Satsujinki said with a murderous smile. “That’s why I didn’t take the Association job. It’s way more profitable to work for someone much more desperate for your services.” He walked over and leaned his back against a tree, relaxing.

            She couldn’t believe her ears. “Really? You went with the underdog because he paid better? Even if it’s the Yggdmillenia versus the world?”

            “Yeah. Why not? All Yggdmillenia has to do to win it all is take out the Red Team. Then it has a wish on the Holy Grail it can use to make itself unstoppable, plus it might even have a secret way to keep its surviving Servants around as the ultimate defense,” the hitman explained with a devious grin.

            That last thing he said seemed targeted, as though he was hinting that Yggdmillenia had that very thing at its disposal. Ridiculous, she thought. Servants become nearly impossible to maintain after the Grail War ends because the Grail ceases providing support to each Servant, and it needs sixty years to build up the mana to do so for just a few weeks.

             “But really, all it comes down to is, you don’t win big by gambling on the best odds.”

            “What kind of mercenary looks at his contracts like a poker game?” Adolpha asked indignantly.

            The dark-haired Japanese man just chuckled smugly, like it was all a big joke to him. He opened his eyes and glared at her like prey.

            “Only the finest.”

            Adolpha felt chills run up her spine.

            “You got any other questions?” Satsujinki asked.

            “Yeah. Big one. What happens if I say no?”

            “I kill you,” he said dismissively. “I would be an idiot to let you go if you have no intentions of joining us.”

            “Okay,” Adolpha said, having fully expected that. “And if I say yes?”

            “Then you come with me and tell Caster to follow you. Easy as that. There’s no real chance of pursuit by the Red Team right now.”

            “Really?” she asked. She recalled how the moment she set foot in Romania, her presence had been tracked every single second and she never once managed to figure out whatever was being used to follow her. It was not too terribly far to Trifas, but she doubted she could go there undetected by the Association.

            She glanced up at the trees reflexively, wondering if even now she was being watched by someone. All she saw were ordinary doves that were resting in the trees.

            Adolpha reached up and held her sore head for a little while, listening to the silence and avoiding looking at him. There was no way in Hell she could survive against him if it came to a fight. But it was not so easy to turn her back on her team, either. It was not that she had any particular feelings of trust or love for the Red Team, but rather, she felt like———

            Joining the Black Team would be walking away from the challenge that Deimlet Pentel laid down for her. What he said to her was, in essence, “You are unworthy to be in our presence. You will never belong here. You are nothing to us.”

            She was not sure why that infuriated her so much, but even now the memory of his eyes that looked down on her burned in her soul. And now this mere hitman was talking to her in exactly the same way, regarding her as the same thing that Deimlet did. A nobody. A waste of Command Spells.

            To Hell with both Deimlet and Satsujinki, then.

            “That’s not really the best option, though, is it?” Adolpha asked.

            “Hmm?”

            “Just going with you right now. If I were to betray the Red Team right now, I would bring only my Servant to the table for the Black Team. What a waste of time,” the brunette said haughtily, taking a hairband out of her pocket, sticking it between her teeth, and reaching up to pull her hair back and comb all tangles out of it.

            “Sorry?” Satsujinki asked, his murderous aura returning as he tensed up and stopped leaning on the tree. He was asking her to clarify her meaning, and if she did not, he would kill her where she stood.

            Adolpha took the hair band from her lips and tied her hair into a pony tail.

            “I already told you, I wasn’t briefed by the Red Team. Isn’t that a problem? I don’t even know the basic info provided to all Red Masters, let alone any important tactical information. Y’know, all the stuff Darnic would grill me for the second I walked into Yggdmillenia Fortress. Intel.”

            Satsujinki stiffened. “And?”

            “Obviously, if I were to return to the Red Team, I would not only be briefed soon, I would also have opportunities to discover the True Names of some of the Red Team Servants. Not to mention the primary battle plan, backup plans, secret techniques of the Red Masters…” Adolpha trailed off, leaving the rest to the hitman to think out for himself.

            Just as she hoped, his smug smile twisted into a serious frown.

            “Keep talking.”

            “Reeling in a Master and her Servant would be a nice catch for a fisher like you. But when Darnic realizes I don’t know anything worthwhile, I wonder, how grateful will he really be? Now, if you released me, and let me grow into a much bigger fish… you could bring me back to your boss with pride.”

            Satsujinki grimaced. “You want me to just let you go? Are you joking?”

            Adolpha smiled. “Yes. I want you to let me go.”

            “Without even a promise that you’ll actually defect?”

            “Would my word mean anything at all to you? No magus is trustworthy,” Adolpha said, imitating his own carefree tone of voice. “I’d offer to sign a geas, but I don’t really have several hours to hammer out the technicalities of a long contract like that, and I doubt you do, either.”

            “Tch. Don’t try to play around with me.”

            He withdrew his knife and switched it open, brandishing it at her. He had resorted to threats, which meant he didn’t like the way the conversation was going one bit. Adolpha, for the first time in a long time, felt a small sense of pride in herself for pushing him so hard, even if it was just verbally. But she wasn’t finished, not by a long shot.

            “What’s the matter? Suddenly afraid of taking longshot gambles, even for a big payout? You could go from a hand that _might_ win, three of a kind, to a hand that will _definitely_ win, a straight flush. Why not double or nothing? What do you have to lose?” Adolpha asked, pushing the matter as far as it could go.

            Satsujinki glared at her venomously for several tense moments, and then just sighed and shook his head like it was all too annoying to deal with. “I bet you think you’re clever, turning my own words against me like that. Alright, whatever. I didn’t really expect you to agree to the deal anyways,” he added under his breath. “The important thing is that the cards are on the table. Sooner or later, you’ll have to choose who you really want to side with, and Yggdmillenia is the only reasonable choice.”

            Adolpha smiled at him confidently, and spoke her true feelings. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying no.”

            He chuckled at her, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m not really worried. After you spend some real time with the Red Team, I’m sure you’ll be begging to join us.”

            And with that, Satsujinki closed his knife and vanished right in front of her eyes with a little gust of wind from the sheer speed of his movement technique.

            Adolpha turned towards the cathedral and started jogging to it, holding up the skirt of her gothic dress.

 

            She walked up to the church, and saw that for the second time in twenty-four hours the front doors had been torn off their hinges. She stepped into the vestibule over the fallen doors and looked around, hearing not even a mouse within the entire confines of the structure.

            “Hello?” Adolpha called.

            There was no response.

            A church was usually a beautiful and soothing place to be in from her experiences, but when it was totally deserted and destroyed like this, all she felt was spooked. She walked hesitantly into the chapel, seeing that most of the roof had collapsed and more or less the entire place would need to be rebuilt.

            When her shoe stepped in something wet in the darkness, she looked down, and with the moonlight she saw the bodies. Adolpha lifted her arm to cover her nose, but it was a pointless effort. She couldn’t smell anything. They were definitely fresh. It took her a few moments to scan the area for any signs of Red masters, but saw none. Only homunculi. Her link with Berserker told her he was somewhere nearby. He must have been deeper in the cathedral. She considered using Transference of Consciousness to verify his location, but again had to remind herself that she was completely dry on mana.

            Stepping carefully over the broken and ripped up homunculus corpses, she went further into the rectory, finding the door of every single dorm room wide open as though someone had gone through each in systemic order. It was not as though she had left anything of value in hers, so she ran on into the men’s dormitory and found it had ended up in the same situation. Next she checked the cafeteria, then every bathroom she could find, and finally she threw open the rear doors and stepped out into the gardens. There, sitting on the benches scattered around the once-pretty view, now a miserable wreck of destroyed trees and flowers, the Masters of Red were assembled. Standing by one of the destroyed trees was Berserker, and the rest of the Servants all had chosen to remain dematerialized, if the mana signatures she was reading were correct.

            Kotomine was saying something about alternative bases of operation when he stopped for Adolpha’s arrival. “Ah, so you survived the assassin.”

            She looked at all the faces staring at her and blinked. “What? You knew I was under attack and you just left me to fend for myself?”

            “Caster notified us of the assailant. He seemed confident that you could handle him on your own, so we chose not to intervene,” the priest explained. Adolpha wished Caster was materialized just so that she could glare at him her outrage over that.

             “We had our own issues to handle, at any rate,” Kotomine added.

            “Oh yeah? I’m sure. I saw the explosions,” Adolpha said, walking over to stand by Berserker. “But it seems the battle ended a while ago.”

            “It did, but if you were in real danger, surely Berserker would have gone to support you?” Kotomine asked.

            Adolpha kept her mouth shut, glancing at Berserker. He didn’t move a muscle. Yes, he was definitely completely bone-dry on mana at this point. There was no way he could have reached her even if he wanted to. She rubbed her nose a little, thinking intently. Yes, it was better if the other Masters were unaware of how dire her mana situation was.

            “Yes, Father, that is true,” she said, yawning solely to sell the lie. “But I was told we were a team.”

            “Part of being a team includes knowing when to intervene, and when it is better to place your faith in others. Think of your survival as a final proof for us of your worthiness as an allied Master. Let there be no further doubts about von Elfbern’s aptitude. She is our equal from this moment forth,” Kotomine said to every other Master of Red.

            Cabik Pentel just scoffed.

            “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. She’s still a novice, even if she lucked out against some two-bit hitman of Yggdmillenia,” the tanned man said with a sneer.

            “Give it a rest already, Pentel,” Gene Rum snapped. “You missed that entire battle. Even Adolpha had to fight for her life.”

            Cabik shrugged. “Not my fault someone decided to cut my room off from the outside world and all communication with that bounded field.”

            “What?” Adolpha asked.

            Cabik smiled dryly. “Oh, that’s right, you weren’t here when we discussed it. Turns out, there’s a double agent on the team. Someone put up bounded fields around me and Vor Sembren’s quarters. These weren’t our own fields that we were using to conceal our Servants, these were designed solely to completely insulate a room on every level.”

            “Like a Faraday Cage?” Adolpha asked.

            “Exactly. Forget electromagnetic comms, not even the most robust magical communication would get through that kind of barrier,” Cabik said. “By the time I realized it was there, I tore it apart immediately. But the battle was already over.”

            “Is it impossible that the enemy soldiers did it?” Adolpha asked.

            “Not impossible, but implausible,” Cabik explained. “I’ve never seen a homunculus put up a barrier of that grade before.”

            “Even for someone on our team who could move around the church freely for subversive activities, that level of bounded field was truly a work of art,” Feend vor Sembren noted, folding his hands together under his chin. “There were no distinguishing marks to its craftsmanship, no proof of ownership, no hints as to the creator’s identity in its weaving. And I am certain everyone here understands how impressive that is.”

            Adolpha covered her mouth with a sleeve of her dress, brow furrowed. That was definitely impressive. It was said that there were traces of every mage in their magecraft by default due to each lineage developing their own formulas and methods, just like how every painter had their own fingerprint in their style. To totally remove that fingerprint from their own magecraft was seen as an incredibly difficult task because it meant developing an entirely personal means of producing things like Bounded Fields outside of what one’s Magic Crest offered. For an instructor at the Clock Tower like vor Sembren to be totally at a loss meant the perpetrator had to be a truly excellent magus.

            “Then the natural conclusion is that Assassin did it,” Rottweil said, nursing his side which was still bleeding a little. Adolpha could see a mass of scar tissue had grown around what must have been an absolute terrible wound, and she could not believe her eyes. There was no way anyone could survive being split nearly in half like that, but there he was, still kicking. “An Age of Gods magus like her would have no problem creating those fields.”

            “If it was Assassin, she could have done far worse than merely blocking communications,” Adolpha said plainly.

            “Not if she was under orders to only cut us off, not kill us,” Cabik said.

            “Why would I risk the survival of the entire team like that?” Kotomine asked.

            “Father Kotomine is an agent of the church. Of all us here, he is the only one uninterested in the Grail,” vor Sembren said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “There is no conceivable way that Yggdmillenia could have bought his loyalty. I sincerely doubt he would be the responsible party.”

            “Maybe old habits die hard,” Cabik said, glaring at the priest. “Executors kill mages. Isn’t that right?”

            “If I wished to kill you rather than accomplish my duty as Supervisor, I certainly would not have let you summon Servants of your own,” Kotomine said with a sigh of exasperation. His patience was definitely growing thin. “On the other hand, do not think that you are above suspicion yourself, Cabik Pentel. Those bounded fields could have been crafted by any one of us. But you destroyed the bounded field around yourself before it could be inspected to determine a possible origin, or indeed whether it had been created from inside the room or the outside.”

            “I had to in order to contact you!” Cabik yelled angrily, standing up.

            “Calm down, Gum Brother,” Gene Rum said.

            “I bet you did it, Gale Wheel!” Cabik announced, turning to her.

            “What? Why?” she asked.

            “You’ve been suspiciously quiet this entire time!”

            “Excuse me for not particularly wishing to involve myself in this nonsense,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “You have seen my bounded fields before. I used one just prior to the battle in von Elfbern’s quarters. I’m sure most of you felt its deployment. You know full well it was nothing like the ones that were placed around your rooms. Furthermore, I am the Master of Caster. In case his obnoxiously loud voice announcing his identity wherever he goes somehow failed to tip you off, he is William Shakespeare. He is a poor fighter even by the standards of his class. If you think I would do something as ridiculous as trying to weaken my team before the Black Team has been defeated, you must truly believe I am a simpleton.”

            Caster chose that moment to materialize beside her, smiling at the gathered Masters warmly. “Indeed, it is true!” he announced in his theatrical voice, bowing deeply. “A pleasure to greet you all properly!”

            “Well, _someone_ is the traitor!” Cabik yelled, kicking a rock into some burnt-out bushes. He turned and glanced at Kairi Sisigou, who was just sitting on his own bench and hanging his head limply. Cabik just shook his head and rounded to face Adolpha.

            “You! Girl! You’ve been awfully silent too! Where were you during the battle!”

            Adolpha squinted at him incredulously, then looked at the other Masters and saw they had somewhat sympathetic looks on their faces.

            “Answer me!”

            “I’m just trying to figure out what exactly was going on while I was out. I mean, I was getting chased and attacked by a freaking hired killer with a knife while all this went down,” Adolpha said. “I’ll take it as a compliment that you think I could have made those fields, since they sound like pretty powerful ones.”

            “Of course you couldn’t have made the bloody bounded fields!” Cabik snapped. “I just want to know what, exactly, happened! You were gone for hours for what should have only been a few minutes to a convenience store! You could be an agent of Yggdmillenia! It’s not outside the realm of possibility that a second-rate like you was hired by the Black Team to infiltrate our team! Maybe that’s how you survived that killer!”

            Adolpha began to feel cold and sweaty. If they investigated what she had been up to, there was a risk that they would find out about the offer she had received. No, she would definitely be dead if they found out.

            She held up her bloody arm, showing the gash left by the windshield shard. “Some guy with a knife tried to kill me. Caster ran away like a coward, leaving me to fend for myself.”

            Shakespeare winced a little at being called such a thing, but then shrugged, accepting it.

            “I managed to slip away from him and get on the road. But then I crashed Ms. Rum’s car because the motherfucker jumped onto it from his motorcycle. The crash knocked me out for a while. When I came to, he was gone.” The brunette tried not to look at the Gale Wheel while she said this, because she was sure her benefactor would be absolutely livid.

            “And why should we believe that you didn’t just crash it to try and make it all believable? Maybe you were meeting that hitman for a debriefing!” Cabik snapped furiously.

            “Because I was keeping an eye on her, and I can verify her words as true,” Assassin said, materializing behind Kotomine in golden sparks.

            Adolpha tried not to look as pale and clammy as she was feeling. Was she really being watched the whole time?

            Assassin glanced at the busty girl with a smile so small that it could have been mistaken for a frown. Just what was she thinking?

            “And why should we believe the word of an Assassin?” Cabik asked.

            “I would think the idea of some second-rate wench and the Church Supervisor both being traitors in league with each other is too ridiculous even for a fool like yourself to entertain,” Assassin sighed, shaking her head. “You seem rather desperate to point fingers and place blame on others.”

            “I want to get to the bottom of this!” Cabik yelled. “And I won’t take these insults from some murderous tart! Rider!”

            Behind Cabik Pentel, a tall man materialized from thin air. He was dressed in strong steel armor and had a scarf around his neck, with short green hair, arms crossed, a confident smirk on his face. He had the same air of divinity that both Berserker and Assassin possessed, but unlike Assassin, he carried himself with martial posture.

            “Yes, Master?”

            “Teach Assassin a lesson!”

            Every Master there stiffened, preparing for battle, except for Kairi Sisigou, who just stayed sitting where he was, staring at the ground.

            “Eh… aren’t we on the same team, Master?” Rider asked, and that was enough to defuse the tension of the situation.

            Cabik was about to scream in anger, but Kotomine held up a hand to calm him down. “I apologize for my Servant’s poor choice of words. Assassin, apologize to him. Now.”

            “Oh, very well. I am sorry for calling you a fool,” Assassin said, but her expression and her tone of voice seemed very unrepentant.

            “Look at her! She’s not the least bit sorry!”

            “Give it a rest already!” Adolpha shouted. “Clearly we do not have enough evidence to be placing blame on anyone right now!”

            Cabik glared at her, crossing his arms and huffing loudly. But he did go silent.

            “We don’t even know for certain if there is a traitor,” Adolpha added.

            “No, there is definitely a traitor,” Kotomine said. “Whether they are the one responsible for the sabotage remains to be seen. But the mere fact that our enemy found us is proof of that.”

            “What? Didn’t the Association use a cover-up operation to stop the forest fire?” Adolpha asked. “There could be a leak anywhere in the Association. It doesn’t have to be on this team.”

            Everyone became really quiet for some reason.

            Kotomine cleared his throat to break the silence. “I explained this to the others before you arrived. You see, I didn’t call upon the Association to help put out the fire. I left it to the local government to deal with, and they have not even begun investigating the cause of the fire. There is no way Yggdmillenia could have known for sure that we were here, unless someone in this group of individuals fed them that information.”

            Adolpha looked at the ground, feeling rather stupid. “Uhh…”

            “Fear not. We all thought the same as you did,” Gene said, leaning back in her seat.

            “So how are we going to settle this?” Feend Vor Sembren asked. “We can’t relocate to a new fortress if the mole is just going to reveal our location again, and we have virtually no proof that points to anyone in the team as the culprit, yet there is enough circumstantial evidence to argue that any of us is guilty. We certainly cannot prepare battle plans if we have to worry about our strategy being leaked to our foes.”

            “Indeed, it is troublesome. But there are ways of solving the problem,” Kotomine said. “If, say, we were to clear one of us from all doubt, and have that individual find for us a new base of operations… we could take measures to ensure that only that person knows precisely where we are, and the rest of us will know nothing.”

            “And who, precisely, can we trust beyond a reasonable doubt?” Rottweil asked.

            “The answer is simple. There is only one person on this team who joined as an accident of chance, who had no opportunity to sell out to the Black team or create plans to betray us because she did not even know she was going to be a Master in this war, or even knew that the war existed until around twenty-four hours ago. A novice who has no real connections in the world of magi, who has yet to learn how to conceal her true feelings as a magus should, and is a poor liar,” Kotomine said, gesturing smoothly at Adolpha.

            “Me?” she asked, blinking rapidly.  
            “Of course. You are also the one who was not present for the battle, and could not have possibly engaged in the sabotage,” Kotomine added. “The rest of us had the motive, certainly had the means, and none of us have a flawless alibi. So that leaves only you as the one who, beyond all doubt, most certainly is not responsible.”

            Adolpha watched every single Master turn their head to stare at her expectantly, even Sisigou, and a crushing weight fell upon her shoulders.

            “Does anyone have a complaint?” the priest asked loudly. “Say it now or hold your peace.”

            Not a single Master seemed to have much to say. Even Cabik Pentel had retreated into his own head, glaring at Adolpha intently, but offering no objections.

            “In other words, until the identity of the traitor can be verified, you shall be the anchor of our team. Rejoice, Adolpha von Elfbern,” Kotomine said, standing up and addressing the others. “As for the rest of us, we had better pack our things. I shall call for limousines to take us wherever von Elfbern chooses. When they come, we shall wear blindfolds and earplugs. As for our Servants, it is not so easy to restrict their senses, so instead they will have to find a place of their own to hide in somewhere. Even if the mole leaks the location of our Servants, I suspect the enemy will not be eager to attack six Servants without a chance at slaying their Masters.”

            “Hold on,” Rottweil said. “Your Assassin said she has an enormous network of familiars. We need to have a guarantee that she won’t track us to wherever we go with them in case you’re the traitor.”

            Kotomine nodded. “Yes, that is a fair point. Then let me show my good faith. Assassin, introduce yourself by your True Name.”

            Assassin sighed, as though it was annoying for one like her to have to make such a gesture. “Very well. I am Semiramis, Queen of Assyria,” she announced freely and proudly, bowing her head very slightly, the greatest show of respect for others that any Queen could ever offer.

            The moment she said it, Adolpha checked Assassin’s parameters by using her rights as a Master, and in her mind she saw six trees, the trees of her physical powers extremely small and weak, yet the trees of Mana and Luck quite tall and proud, and in their roots she saw Assassin’s True Name carve itself. Yes, the Grail had confirmed it. She was indeed Semiramis.

            She also saw trees that denoted Assassin’s Class Skills and her Personal Skills as well, and was surprised to see that Assassin had the Class Skills of both an Assassin and a Caster, an extremely rare and rather powerful ability granted by one of her Personal Skills, Dual Summon. She also had the Divinity skill at rank C. Another of her Personal Skills was Familiar (Doves).

            The jolt of lightning up her spine when she realized nearly made Adolpha dizzy enough to fall over.

            The doves.

            The doves.

            It was the doves.

            All along, it was the doves.

            There had always been doves around her since she came to Romania, completely ordinary doves, but they were there. She had stopped noticing them. They were normal to see pretty much everywhere.

            But Semiramis was by nature one who could simply control doves by speaking to them and dominating their wills with her own. That was what her skill represented. There was no need to establish a connection through mana and enslave the creature with magecraft like modern magi needed to do. That was why Adolpha was so convinced they weren’t familiars. And how could she have possibly known?

            Assassin slowly turned to stare at Adolpha, smiling at her sinisterly. Adolpha’s heart went to war with itself, on one hand thrilled just to be looked at by the beautiful demigoddess, and on the other terrified because it meant, without a doubt, Assassin knew what she and Satsujinki had said to each other. Adolpha’s life was held in those hands, hands pierced with golden spikes of murder. And judging by the way Assassin was looking at her, she knew Adolpha had figured it all out. She knew exactly what was going through the maiden’s head.

            “Dove familiars, huh? I envy Age of Gods magi more and more to be able to wield Mysteries like that,” Vor Sembren said. “No modern magus could do such a thing.”

          “If you are interested in lessons, I am afraid that the price for becoming my student would be your manhood,” Semiramis said coldly.

            “As expected of the Queen of Murder,” Vor Sembren said, chuckling to himself. “No, I’ll just sing your praises to myself.”

            “Still, this means we can easily deal with her familiars from now on. They’re just ordinary doves, so a curse on our vehicles to repel the sight of animals should be more than enough to ensure our privacy,” Vor Sembren added.

            “I don’t know any curses like that,” Adolpha said.

            “I know of one. Don’t worry, I’ll cast it on the limousines when they get here,” Vor Sembren said confidently. “Feel free to examine my work, too. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything like sneaking a tracker into the curse with five other top-class magi watching me.”

            “Then it sounds like we have a plan,” Kotomine said. “All that remains is von Elfbern deciding on a place for us to use as our new base.”

            Adolpha snapped her gaze away from Assassin, running through all the possibilities in her head. “I am afraid I know very few places in Romania.”

            “Why restrict it to only Romania?” Kotomine asked. “Take us to anywhere in Europe.”

            “I, uh, I should spend some time thinking,” Adolpha said.

            “We shall go and prepare for the journey, then,” Kotomine said. He paused, turning back to the others. “I’ll need to borrow someone’s phone. The church’s landline was severed.”

            The Masters of Red all filtered out of the gardens one by one, leaving just Adolpha there with Berserker. Once she was sure she was totally alone, and she had determined there were no doves nearby, Adolpha let out a loud yell of frustration, just for her own sake. What the Hell had just happened? A traitor in the Red Team? What kind of responsibility had she just been saddled with? What even happened during the battle? And what did Kotomine mean when he said six Servants? Weren’t there supposed to be seven?

            It was like they were all just assuming Adolpha knew what they were talking about, or, rather, like they didn’t care if she understood or not. They never gave her a chance to ask questions or even get a rundown about what she had missed.

            They still didn’t respect her.

            They still saw her as just some novice, even after she nearly got killed fighting an assassin.

            Adolpha grit her teeth, looking at Berserker.

            She hated to admit it, but Satsujinki was right.


	5. The Maid of Orleans

Interlude 4A: Two Old Friends

 

            While the Masters had left to hide in safer territory, their Servants were ordered to remain behind and find someplace to await further orders together. With Assassin covering their tracks via magecraft, the six remaining Servants of Red gathered, discussed it, and opted to travel west, staying in the wildlands of Romania and avoiding civilization. They crossed a hundred miles in only a few hours, finding a clearing in the forests of the Carpathians and choosing this place to be their camp. Archer was placed on sentry duty, while Assassin’s doves perched all around that area as additional surveillance. Rider chose to hang out with Archer as she patrolled, pestering her, calling her his ‘big sis’ when Caster informed him that she was none other than Atalanta, a spirit older and from the same culture as he. Lancer chose not to materialize, remaining an invisible presence. Caster, of course, pranced around being loud and flamboyant, reciting his own poetry and plays to owls and rodents and Berserker, attempting to convince the grey giant to go attack the Yggdmillenia fortress quite unsuccessfully.

            “Alas, that I did not have the chance to witness the tragic and glorious fall of our Saber! All I saw was the beautiful clash of opposing lights in the sky, breathtaking!” Caster laughed.

            Berserker said nothing, again not even acknowledging the playwright.

            Caster sighed. “Do you mourn for her loss? I see. I, too, had hoped to come to know her well. But time and war wait for no man!”

            The giant continued to stare at the tree he was sitting cross-legged across from.

            “Hmm. A quiet audience is better able to take in a performance, but it also feels lonelier for the actors,” Shakespeare said. “I shall take my leave. I believe there was an owl fifty paces north that rather enjoyed The Tragedy of Macbeth.”

            No sooner than Caster’s footsteps had faded from hearing did someone else come and approach, most likely someone who had been waiting for the obnoxious fellow to leave. It was a cat-eared and cat-tailed maiden, lithe and pretty, holding a bow in one arm and a straight stick with four cooked rabbits impaled on it in the other. She let the bow vanish, then walked up to Berserker, looking down at him with a distant expression, and sat on the broken stump beside him.

            “It’s been a long time, Heracles,” Atalanta said, looking over at him. “You offered me some of your catch once while on that ship. They was good fish. You cooked them perfectly.”

            Berserker did not respond to her, but he did turn his head to look up at her, and Atalanta nodded back at him. “So you do remember? I am glad.”

            The short girl yanked one of the rabbits off of the stick. “I wondered if you were hungry. I know Servants do not get hungry, but eating will replenish some of our mana. I noticed you were moving sluggishly,” she said, offering the remaining three rabbits to him. “It must be a bad class and Master for you.”

            Berserker reached out and gently closed his fingers around the stick, and for a moment, his finger touched her hand before she let go. Atalanta did not flinch, for she was no blushing maiden, but one raised like an animal who did not treat casual touches as anything of greater meaning. He lifted the meat to his nose, sniffing it.

            “Sorry. I know I am no cook like you,” Atalanta said plainly.

            Berserker pulled one of the rabbits off and began to eat it, tearing the meat off its bones with his teeth that probably could have crushed the entire skeleton with ease, but it seemed that Berserker retained his manners. He ate through all the rabbits in under a minute, leaving only bare bones behind as he chomped and swallowed the last few bits of meat. Meanwhile, Archer was barely halfway through eating her rabbit.

            “The night is nice,” Archer said, looking around after chewing and swallowing a mouthful. “These mountains remind me of my home. Do they remind you of yours?”

            Berserker had nothing to say. Atalanta watched him for a little while, blinking sadly, her ears drooping in dismay.

            “I am sorry. You once told me that friends should be cheerful to be in each other’s company. I was honored that you called me your friend. Now I am sorrowful to see you in this state.”

            It was like Archer was looking at Heracles during one of his infamous rampages of madness imposed by Hera. He looked nothing like himself, more like a beast. His brilliant eyes and witty tongue were both missing, as was his warmth, his vigor of life and love. It was a misfortune that he did not deserve, this torment unfairly imposed by magi who only wanted him as a tool for their schemes. Had he not suffered gravely enough in life?

            Something bumped into her head, and Atalanta opened her eyes to see that he had reached up and placed his hand on her, gently patting her head and smushing her hair and ears. If anyone else had dared to do something like that to her, she would have killed them to preserve her pride and honor as a huntress. But coming from the mad Berserker, who was crippled mentally and tortured by his class, who could not say anything, who she was not sure could even understand her, this simple act felt so soothing that she could not express it. She did not complain. She let him keep patting her like that. It felt———nice.

            After a little while, he pulled his hand away and went back to sitting still. Archer sat beside him in silence, at a loss for things to say. Then she decided that sometimes, words are of no use, and she patted him on the head in return. His wild hair was a bit tangled, so, like a cat, she started to comb it with her fingers, gently straightening it out so that it looked just a bit more like the Heracles she remembered. He did not react to it at all.

            Time passed, and soon she was to meet back up with Rider who had agreed to do a circular sweep of one side of the mountain while she checked the other. She of course had not told Rider of Berserker’s identity. Though she was a poor speaker and a loner, she still had the wisdom to recognize the lust for battle in Rider’s soul, and knew he would never be able to resist a chance to fight _the_ Heracles. Archer stood up and walked away from Berserker, waving goodbye.

            At last, with the doves reporting that both of the pests had gone off on their mindless activities, a few minutes later Assassin materialized beside Berserker, looking down at him, brushing her luxurious hair with her fingers.

            “Your Master is a bit of a handful, you know,” Assassin said. “I’ve been trying to befriend and support her since before you were summoned, but she is, unfortunately, a troublemaker, as I think you’ve noticed.”

            Berserker did not answer the Queen of Assyria.

            “The reason I have come to speak with you, Berserker, is because I believe you deserve fair warning. You attacked Rider of Black and forced him into a retreat when he had nearly cornered me due to my spells having no effect on his level of magic resistance. Then you saved my Master from the homunculus soldiers that were about to overwhelm him through sheer numbers. That means I owe you twice over, and it is my pride that I always repay my debts,” Semiramis said, sitting down on a broken tree stump beside him.

            “I saw what happened when you pursued the withdrawing homunculi into the gardens. You froze up. At first it seemed natural, as though you had fulfilled your orders and were then going to await further instructions from your Master. But then, what sort of Berserker would think like that? No. You stopped to conserve the girl’s mana, didn’t you?”

            Berserker gave no reply.

            “It is surprising to meet a Berserker who can restrain himself to protect his Master’s health, but I would expect nothing less from the Hero of Heroes.”

            The giant did not move an inch.

            “Berserker, the reason why I say all this is simple. I have ample stores of mana thanks to my diligent Master. If ever you have need of a source to replenish your reserves—I’m sure you know that there are ways even for Servants to exchange mana without requiring a contract. Given your size, I think it might be a bit… challenging for me to handle you, but I have confidence in my skills. I am infamous for them, after all. There may be no Heroic Spirit in the world with more fame in the arts of seduction than I.”

            Berserker did not react in even the slightest way.

            “Are you afraid, Heracles? There is nothing to fear from me in this form. After all, you could crush me with a single hand.”

            Still he did not respond.

            “Really, it would be my honor to be the bedmate of a hero of your esteem. One such as you, said to have impregnated fifty maidens in a single night, would be an exquisite… partner.”

            Her voice purred like velvet to one’s ears as she reached out and stroked Berserker’s chiseled chin and then his rock hard shoulder, admiring the sheer mass of his muscles, the power hidden inside them that could wrestle gods and monsters to the death. A slight blush came to her pale cheeks, her saurian eyes narrowing on the giant. She could not deny the thrill that crept up her spine at the thought of the depravities she could enjoy with such a legendary hero.

            “Oh dear. Are you still so deprived of mana that you cannot even form a single word of assent or dissent, Berserker? My, I should remedy that.”

            Assassin stood up, stepping in front of him, seeing that his gaze was upon her now, and a lush, sultry smile lit up her face. She took hold of her dress, undoing the straps on her shoulders and hands to loosen it, dropping the priceless silk and gold attire to the dirty ground, letting it dematerialize. She did not waste the time to remove her underwear, allowing it to simply vanish into golden twinkles, baring her curvaceous body, divinely shaped to be flawless in all respects, copious, strong and fertile, reaching up to run one of the golden spikes in her hand over the flesh of a huge, round bosom, pulling her long hair away from it and showing Berserker her nipple that was already standing in anticipation.

            Berserker stared at every part of her, his one golden eye gleaming, the other eye still burning red from his madness.

            “Now then, shall we begin?”

            She stepped over his lap and slowly lowered her hips until she sat atop it, straddling the grey giant, pressing her bare body into his chest, hissing softly under her breath in excitement. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, bracing herself for the behemoth she was about to ride, leaning in, brushing her sensual dark lips over Berserker’s chin in a playful kiss. Assassin felt the moisture drip from between her legs onto his armored skirt, and she knew it would not be long before he gave in. She felt his hand wrap around her waist, she squirmed against his touch in breathless anticipation————

            And then Semiramis was slowly lifted off of Berserker’s lap and placed on the ground beside him, and Berserker continued staring at the tree.

            Assassin blinked, sitting on the leaves and staring into empty space.

            What?

            For a madman with a legend of sleeping with hundreds of women and men to deny her, what had she done wrong? It was meant to restore him to full strength, something Berserker was clearly keenly aware of being a problem even in his insanity. Had he sensed her ulterior motives somehow? Was he aware of her legend despite his insanity and wary of her schemes? She had obtained Shirou’s blessings to do it. Heracles did not attack her as if he suspected her of a plot. So why did he reject her?

            It incensed her to be turned away. She stood up and rematerialized her clothes upon her body, stomping away from the giant and into the forest without another word. The denial had besmirched her pride, certainly, but strangely, part of her felt almost relieved. But why would she feel that at all? It was not like she was being… unfaithful. No matter. She would try again the next night. He needed that mana, and given enough time, Semiramis knew she could seduce even the purest of men. Berserker was an invaluable ally—once Adolpha had been truly enslaved to Assassin’s will, they could count on Berserker to be her Master’s shield once the Black faction was destroyed, and combined with Assassin’s own strength and Noble Phantasms, they could easily defeat the rest of the Red faction, even Rider and Lancer. But if Berserker did not survive to the end of the Black faction due to running out of mana…

            Assassin bit her thumb, pondering the best course of action, and deep down asking herself if her Master’s wish on the Grail was truly worthy of all that she was being forced to lower herself to.

            Berserker remained where he sat, slowly blinking, and for the slightest moment in his madness-addled mind, he might have felt enough clarity to recognize that a woman, beautiful and divine, was sacrificing her body, hurting her own heart, to try to support the one she loved. He shut his eyes, allowing his waking nightmare to shift into the dreams of a girl who longed above all else for her family to be whole again.

 

End of Interlude

 

            For Adolpha, despite all the dread she felt, sleep came easily thanks to her utter exhaustion.

            But what she dreamed was in no way soothing. Though they were the dreams of another, she, who stood in his shoes, saw all that he saw, did all that he did, and felt all that he felt.

 

            Adolpha awoke with tears running down her cheeks, reaching up and wiping them away. How could anyone live like that? She asked herself that question over and over. In her sleepy state, she struggled to muster the cold heart of a magus, and instead wept again and again. Only once the immediate memory of those dreams faded and she was left with only a vague sense of the despair she had felt did she manage to compose herself, feeling like a child who had just had their first nightmare.

            Fortunately, she had that theater all to herself.

 

            Adolpha got up out of her chair, letting the cushion spring up into the back of the seat again. Theater chairs made for very poor beds, but she had chosen to use an ordinary theater in Poland as the temporary hideout for the Red Masters for a reason. Inspired partly by her journey through Europe, Adolpha determined that theaters could make for an excellent hiding place. More than just having crowds of people filtering in and out of the theater at any given time, theater auditoriums had a convenient and constant mixture of darkness and noise, both of which were effective at thwarting scrying attempts. Even a poor bounded field thrown up hastily would be sufficient protection with all these advantages factored in. Being in an entirely different nation than the Yggdmillenia’s center of power was also very important, but not necessarily key to the strategy.

            All of the Red Masters had been penned into one auditorium in the cinema multiplex, and the owners and employees of the establishment had been hypnotized into believing the auditorium was under renovation. Adolpha was proud of herself for thinking of that excuse, as it explicitly removed the risk of one of them waltzing absentmindedly into the Masters’ new hideout. That plus the bounded field made to repel and strip passersby of any memories of the place guaranteed they would not be intruded on.

            The Masters, except for Adolpha, had all been forbidden to step out of the auditorium at any point. There being restrooms at the entrance of the auditorium, there really was no need at all for them to leave. She had an ordinary Hollywood film, in English, playing, something that would not give any hint as to what country the theater belonged to. She had placed the most powerful bounded field she knew around the entire room, and she was confident that even a first rate magus would not be able to sneak through it, nor could one possibly dismantle it without one of the other Red Masters catching them. She had also gone and purchased a month’s worth of boring, but nonperishable food for them all. She knew the situation was far from pleasant, but if there really was a traitor, this was definitely the minimum precaution that needed to be taken.

            Yawning, Adolpha stumbled out of the theater she had managed to catch a few hours of sleep in. It was empty not because she had done something to ward off normal moviegoers, but simply because nobody was interested in that particular cheesy action film playing in the early hours of the morning. She made her way down the dimly lit hallway, checking her phone and seeing that it was about six o’clock in the morning. The second day of the Great Holy Grail War had finally begun.

            She knocked on the auditorium door the exact rhythm she had told the Red Masters to expect from her. It wasn’t really a necessary step to take, as any magus other than Adolpha coming near the edge of the bounded field would have been violently accosted by it, but it reminded her of old spy movies her father used to show her. Thinking of her father, in turn, made her think of her mother, and Adolpha felt that immense pang of guilt. Really, what she said to her mother was completely indefensible. In that moment of brief solitude, she ached to just run away and go back and throw herself at her mother’s lap. But then she would be damning her to a long, slow, painful demise. No, Adolpha was certain. She could not go back and watch that happen. She would rather die.

            The door was unlocked from the inside—a tiny measure of security worth nearly nothing against a magus, but still one worth having—and Adolpha threw the door open, strolling past Father Kotomine and into the front of the auditorium, looking at all the seats, seeing all the Masters sitting there before her. They all appeared not to have slept, or if they had, very poorly.

            “I’ve been thinking about everything I was told,” Adolpha announced loudly over the movie soundtrack. Indeed, she had received a full and proper briefing on the drive to the theater, including the mission objectives as well as the official Association and Church dossiers on all known Masters in the conflict. Then she listened to all the Red Masters’ reports on the events of the battle in the church. All the new information had been memorized and she had gone through it all over and over again in her head until it put her to sleep. That was why she finally felt prepared for this war, even if she was the weakest Master of Red by far.

            “I have a plan,” Adolpha said before someone else could start talking and seize the initiative from her.

            “Would this be a plan to catch the traitor, or a plan to defeat the Black Team?” Feend Vor Sembren asked immediately, seemingly the most lucid of those assembled.

            The brunette glanced at the gentleman of the Clocktower. As always, the man exuded class and poise without appearing arrogant or foolish. That was a thin line to walk, yet he was clearly seasoned at it. Adolpha had always heard that the instructors of the Clocktower were all annoyingly smug and always looked down on inferior bloodlines, but Vor Sembren betrayed no hint of any such attitude.

            She guessed that this was a man who had worked hard to earn his title and rank within the Clocktower, unlike many who were born into the position. He commanded respect by offering it to everyone he spoke to. He was no-nonsense, he had no chips on his shoulder, he accepted the facts and acted in the most rational possible manner, just like a true magus. More than any of the other Masters present, except perhaps the priest, Vor Sembren had definitely won her respect. And that was why she was terrified of him. She didn’t even know what Servant he had, only that it was a Lancer, and yet she had the impression that he was a threat equal to the sinister executor of the Holy Church.

            “Both,” Adolpha said after she considered the question. “Obviously we cannot all stay cooped up here while the enemy has the Greater Grail and that fortress. We started at a disadvantage to begin with. We need to project our power a little, especially since we lost Saber. Our Servants are outnumbered. Either we seize the initiative, or we lose.”

            “For once, I agree with you, girl,” Cabik Pentel said, popping his neck left and right and crossing his beefy arms together. “Hiding in a hole is not the way the Gum Brothers do their business.”

            “Not survivors, then,” Rottweil Berzinsky said under his breath with a chuckle.

            “We survive by eradicating our enemies before they know what hit them,” Cabik said, leaning back and peering up at the wild-haired Master over his shoulder.

            “To return to the subject,” Gene Rum said calmly, “you are suggesting we go attack the enemy?”

            “Yes and no,” Adolpha answered, feeling that familiar anxiety from having all those first-rate mercenaries watching her like hawks. “I want to push into the enemy’s territory with a skirmish of our own. We need to test their defenses and, if possible, harass them to the extent that they make a tactical error that will cost them dearly.” She paused, seeing the approving expression on Cabik Pentel’s face. “However, we need to stay wary of the traitor. If we all make this kind of advance together, the traitor may be able to sneak a message to warn the enemy. Then we would be walking right into a prepared enemy that knows exactly what we’re bringing to meet them.”

            “Should we order our Servants to make the advance on their own?” Kotomine suggested, walking over to stand beside Adolpha. Though he was as unimposing as ever in presence, Adolpha had learned not to believe his façade of peace. She recognized that his move was specifically intended to both make her nervous and less trustworthy in the eyes of the Masters, and also to assert himself as still being the de facto leader of the team as the coordinator with both the Church and the Association.

            But she would not be cowed.

            “No,” Adolpha said, and she imitated the movements of Shakespeare, adopting a little of the power of his acting, standing up straight, pushing out her chest, stepping forward and leaving Kotomine behind her to claim the stage as hers, throwing out her arm dramatically, and raising her voice. “We have to have Masters at the site of the skirmish to be able to make snap decisions and command the Servants properly. Since I’m the only one cleared of all suspicion, I’m going to lead the scouting force. But since I’m inexperienced, I shouldn’t go alone. You’re all going to draw straws and choose one Master to accompany me.”

            All the Masters seemed momentarily surprised at her extravagant movements and shouting. Even the priest and Vor Sembren twitched a little. But mostly, they were all silent.

            “Really? Drawing straws?” Berzinsky asked, laughing out loud.

            Adolpha’s feigned confidence collapsed when she saw that everyone there, even the priest, began to laugh, chuckle, or giggle at her. Even Kairi Sisigou, quiet and grim ever since he lost Saber, couldn’t help but bust a gut.

            “Hahahahaha!”

            “Ahaa, ahaa, ahaa!”

            “Snnnkkpffhahahahahoohoo, wow!”

            Adolpha’s shoulders slouched, and the proud smirk on her face faded. What the Hell went wrong? She had rehearsed the speech in her head over and over, resisted the anxiety and fear of failure, yet she decided to say one unnecessary thing on the spur of the moment, and it was like all the power and pull she had with her peers had vanished. She was glad it was dark in there, because otherwise they might have been able to see the tears forming in her eyes before she blinked them away. She cursed herself in her head for losing her composure, but of all the things she had expected and used self-suggestion to brace herself for, abject humiliation was not one of them. Even the ever-stoic Gene Rum was giggling, trying to stifle the noise behind her hand, but still clearly giggling by the bouncing of her hefty chest. Even Father Kotomine was struggling to contain himself.

            Eventually, the merriment faded, although Berzinsky just kept going long after the others had simmered down. He, too, finally stopped. Then he took a long, deep breath, and said, “Master von Elfbern, we are professionals and adults. We have no need of such a childish game to make our decisions for us.”

            Adolpha’s heart skipped a beat, and only then did she truly understand how childish she must have sounded to them.

            “I-it was just one suggestion!” she added hastily. But her cracking voice did little to salvage any of her lost respect. She felt like a sailor who had scuttled her own ship at high seas. She was drowning. And to think she had thought herself smooth for successfully negotiating with Satsujinki. But that man was very different than the ones gathered before her. She already knew that, but this proved it yet again.

            Yes, she really did not belong here.

            “I believe her plan does have merits, the method of selection aside,” Father Kotomine said. “She is correct that we cannot simply remain here forever. And if the traitor betrays us while with von Elfbern, the consequences will be contained, as our location here will not be known, and the traitor’s identity will be all too obvious. In regards to the Master that we should send along with you, I believe the most reasonable option would be Master Sisigou, as he has no Servant of his own. If he is the traitor – as unlikely as it seems at the moment – he is one of the least dangerous to possibly betray us, as he would not be bringing a Servant with him.”

            “Hmph. Alright,” Kairi said, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his sunglasses.

            “I would like it if at least one more of us went along with von Elfbern,” Gene Rum said.

            “Then, who would you suggest?” Kotomine asked.

            Gene fell silent, glancing amongst the other Red Masters. Then she shook her head. “I don’t trust anyone here except myself.”

            “Yeah, no shit,” Rottweil said. “Safe to say, we’d all veto each other if anyone else tried to go along with the girl.”

            It took several moments for Adolpha to settle her emotions and clear her mind, assuming the control over her heart that every magus should have. Only then did she muster the courage to speak again. “I would like to bring one more Master, just to be safe,” she said, cutting in. “That way, it wouldn’t just be me and the traitor if Sisigou is it. We can, um, balance the risks against each other.”

            “If you want to bring one more, then choose them yourself, we’d all argue too long about it otherwise,” Cabik Pentel said irritably.

            “Mr. Pentel! I’d like to bring you as my additional support!” Adolpha yelled just as soon as the Gum Brother had finished speaking.

            The entire auditorium froze in surprise. None were more surprised than Cabik himself.

            “Whaaaat? You want me as backup? Really?” the olive skinned magus asked incredulously, frowning and crossing his arms.

            “Are you certain of this decision, von Elfbern?” the executor beside her asked in concern. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps Gene Rum or Vor Sembren would be a more fitting partner. Both are consummate professionals.”

            “I’m right here, you know, damn priest,” Cabik shouted.

            “I rest my case.”

            “No, I want Cabik Pentel,” Adolpha said forcefully, staring into Kotomine Shirou’s eyes until the supervisor sighed and nodded in reluctant acceptance.

            “Very well.”

            “I haven’t even agreed to playing second fiddle to you, girl,” Cabik complained.

            Adolpha looked at Cabik closely, thinking of the most natural reason for someone like him to stick his neck out. “This is your chance to clear your name of doubt. If you come with me and work like a teammate, everyone will have far less reason to suspect you of being the mole.”

            Cabik glared at her intensely for a little while, anger clear on his face. “I am no traitor. And if this is what it takes to prove it, then so be it. I’ll be a good little teammate for this sortie.”

            “Good,” Adolpha said.

            “And where is this offensive probe going to take place?” Vor Sembren asked.

            “In case the traitor here has some way of contacting the enemy beyond all our defensive measures, I will only explain that amongst my partners,” Adolpha said.

            Vor Sembren nodded in understanding.

            “Come on, we’d better get going,” Adolpha said finally after no one else seemed to present any questions. Cabik Pentel and Kairi Sisigou got up out of their chairs and climbed down the stairs, putting in the earplugs and pulling on the blindfolds they had worn on the way into the theater. Before Adolpha could lead them out to the small fleet of limousines waiting outside, Father Kotomine pulled Adolpha aside.

            “Von Elfbern, be aware. I consulted the spirit board and Assassin.” The spirit board, being a magical contraption used by the Church supervisor of Holy Grail Wars, essentially kept track of what Servants had been summoned and which ones had perished in any given war.

            “All the Servants have been summoned, yes, I know,” Adolpha said.

            “No. This is a gravely concerning matter. A Ruler has been summoned by the Grail, and she has already arrived in Romania according to Assassin’s doves,” Kotomine said.

            Adolpha froze, looking up at the white-haired Asian man in shock. “A Ruler? Here? Why?”

            “Perhaps it is the result of the emergency backup system being activated so that two sets of Servants would be summoned,” Kotomine suggested. “As such a thing has never happened before, it seems reasonable to believe it may automatically cause a Ruler to be summoned to oversee a war of such scale.”

            Adolpha stared at the priest. No, she knew rather a lot about the Greater Grail due to her business as a Tuner of the Einzberns. Though the actual mechanics were beyond her, she understood the functions well enough. The Ruler control system was completely separate from the emergency backup system. There was absolutely nothing tying them together. If a Ruler was summoned, one of the few fundamental rules of the war had been violated and the Grail was trying to ensure the ritual would not be subverted.

            But outsiders would know little of these details. Adolpha considered correcting him, but decided to keep her cards close to her chest.

            The fact that Ruler had been summoned meant that something truly grave had gone wrong with the ritual. To her knowledge, it was nothing to do with the Red Team, which meant the perpetrator would of course be… Yggdmillenia.

            “Yeah, makes sense,” Adolpha lied to the priest. “But a Ruler shouldn’t intervene in the war itself unless one side or the other is breaking the rules, and we aren’t, so I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Ruler might even end up being our ally against the Black Team.”

            Kotomine nodded. “Perhaps. But we cannot be sure about what Ruler’s intentions are. Perhaps the Grail has been misled or manipulated somehow, which would mean Ruler has been as well. I believe it best that we handle her with caution. As you are the ones striving out, before you attack Yggdmillenia, I would like you to investigate Ruler and, if she is a threat to our team, crush her with numbers.”

            Even if Ruler was there to be an objective overseer, if their definition of objective happened to rule in favor of the Black Team, she and the others would be facing Ruler as one more enemy, and a frightening one, at that. In that case, eliminating Ruler early would definitely be the wise decision, even if risky. Either way, verifying Ruler’s purpose was definitely top priority. The attack would have to wait.

            “Agreed. Do you know where Ruler is?” Adolpha asked.

            “Assassin’s network of familiars stretches across all of Romania, and she is tracking Ruler carefully. Ruler has been chasing off the doves, but has not taken steps to prevent them from returning—she must not suspect they are serving anyone. Ruler is traveling towards Trifas at the moment. I fear that if the Black Team makes contact with Ruler before we do, they might attempt to manipulate Ruler into becoming our enemy,” the tanned priest said. “Fortunately, she is traveling quite slowly. According to Assassin, she is riding along with a civilian in a very old truck.”

            The brunette nodded. “Alright. I’ll intercept her before she can get there.”

            “One more thing,” Kotomine added. “I called in a few favors. Rejoice.”

            He withdrew from his pastoral suit the small handgun that Adolpha had brought for the war. The Makarov. Slowly, he held it out for her to take.

            “You had it all this time?” Adolpha asked as she swiped it out of his hand.

            “Purely as a precaution. But as you have proven yourself a worthy ally, you should take it back. It will be an excellent supplement for your more novice-class abilities as a magus… and Master.”

            Adolpha winced. Had he noticed Berserker was nearly incapable of moving due to lack of mana last night? She wouldn’t put it past him. Nevertheless, he was right. A gun, while crude and improper of a magus to wield in a fight between magi, was still an effective weapon even if a mage was bone dry. Only, she had no ammunition for it.

            “I asked my associates to bring several additional magazines as well as a few boxes of bullets for it. They’re in the trunk of the limo you rode in. There are also several other pieces of equipment you might find useful,” the calm executor said.

            “What, like Black Keys?” Adolpha asked sarcastically.

            “The Church uses a wide assortment of tools and weapons. Black Keys are actually more of a specialist’s weapon due to the training required to wield them,” Kotomine explained, unfazed by the snark. “But if you would like to try your hand at them, I did provide one in the trunk as well. Just remember that they are meant to be thrown, not wielded like a normal sword.”

            Adolpha could not help but giggle, which caused him to raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just say they’re a specialist’s weapon? What could I accomplish with that?”

            Kotomine just shrugged, offering no answer. “God be with you, Adolpha von Elfbern.”

 

            “Why did you choose me?” Cabik Pentel asked, finally, after they had been on the road for a few hours. He popped out one of his earplugs, technically a violation of the rules they had established for the untrusted Masters, but Adolpha didn’t really care. They were already in Romania, and the odds of him gleaning anything useful from one good ear were minimal. Adolpha had been coordinating with the Church man driving the car and telepathic transmissions from Kotomine Shirou that tracked the progress of Ruler through the countryside, and by the Church driver’s estimates, it would only be an hour before they intercepted the truck Ruler was riding in on the highway. But that hour certainly felt long.

            Adolpha glanced at Sisigou, but the big, scary man was either asleep or pretending to be. Either way, his blindfold was on and so were his earplugs. She looked at the driver, wondering if he would report what he heard to Kotomine or to someone else in the Church. At the very least, Yggdmillenia had no strong connections in the Church going off of the dossiers she’d read, so the chances of their conversation leaking were not a real concern.

            “It was a little bit of an improvised decision,” Adolpha lied, folding her arms around her chest.

            “I expected you to choose the Gale Wheel,” Cabik said. He turned his head to face her now that he had heard her voice, as if he was looking at her, but that blindfold had already been enhanced by magecraft to be nearly impenetrable to even clairvoyant magi.

            “Why?” Adolpha asked.

            “You’re wearing her clothes, aren’t you?” the big man pointed out with a snort.

            And suddenly, things clicked. The clandestine little sign Shakespeare made her back in that convenience store. Adolpha had taken it to mean there was something wrong with the clothes, but she couldn’t find a single trace of mana on them no matter how closely she examined them, and that had vexed her immensely. But now… now it all made sense. Holy Hell. Gene Rum had given her those clothes as a statement—not to Adolpha, but to all the other Masters. It meant, “I’ve taken this girl under my wing. She’s my territory.”

            Adolpha was so surprised that it took her a while to think of a response. “I—well, she was at the top of my list, yes. But I am well aware of the grudge you’ve got towards me, and I decided that we should at least try to work together as a team. If this doesn’t work out, then so be it.”

            “I don’t harbor any grudges against a girl who is genuinely out of her league and in a war she is not prepared to fight,” Cabik said with clear irritation in his voice. It was hard to believe him like that. “Angry, yes, at first, that my brother had his Command Spells stolen. Disappointed, greatly, by your performance. And continually frustrated by just how green and inexperienced you are. Every time you open your mouth, I am reminded of the fact that you are but a child.”

            That woke the fire of her heart. “You yell at me every chance you get! I feel it safe to say that whatever you feel about me, it goes well beyond disappointment and frustration!” she said, more than irked. “You call me a child? You’re the one who throws a temper tantrum every time something doesn’t go his way! You’re unprofessional! You don’t even try to act like a proper magus!”

            Cabik scowled, tendons on his neck flaring in barely kept anger, and he took a long, deep breath. Then he put his earplug back in, leaned back in his seat, and harrumphed. “I’m not going to argue with a brat.”

            “Yeah, well—” Adolpha began, before realizing he could not hear her in the least, and so any harsh words she threw at him would just be making a fool of herself. That bastard, using his earplugs like that to deny her a chance to give him the comeback he deserves. All she could do was mutter profanities furiously under her breath. “ _Leck mich am arsch_. _Arschloch_. _Drecksack_.”

            “You’re not going to get far with the Gum Brothers if you’re always this quick to rile up,” Sisigou said suddenly, yawning.

            Adolpha jumped in her seat. “Wha-how? You were listening?”

            “Yeah. I’m pretty bad at following instructions,” Kairi said with a chuckle, pulling his hand out of his pocket and revealing the earplugs that he must have faked putting into his ears earlier and palmed away. “You know they’re mad for all the right reasons.”

            “I know why they feel the way they do, but they need to get over it. I’m a part of the team now. They need to accept it,” Adolpha huffed.

            “It sounded to me like Cabik sure has. He was being totally upfront with you. You’re the one who blew up. He was just stating facts,” Kairi explained. “All you did was convince him a little more that you’re not ready for any of this.”

            Adolpha immediately pouted, fuming. But she knew the old man was right. Her self control slipped again, and it cost her a good chance at burying the hatchet with one of the Gum Brothers.

            “Listen,” the necromancer stated, reaching into his jacket. Adolpha immediately shifted up to attention, halfway to casting a petrification curse and pulling the handgun out of her new holster (which she’d found in the trunk). But then the only thing he pulled out was a pack of cigarettes, bumping it on the car door beside him to push one out, and then biting his teeth around the butt and drawing it out of the pack. He took out his lighter and clicked it until the cigarette ignited, and then took a long drag from it, blowing the smoke out of his nostrils. “Listen. They might have short tempers, and they might be some of the most vicious mercenaries I’ve ever met, but even they have standards. It’s not about what you are and aren’t capable of, it’s the fact that you’re underage.”

            “Whatever,” Adolpha muttered. “I’m a magus. Age is irrelevant.”

            “Can you even get a driver’s license?” Kairi asked, taking another puff on his cigarette. The secondhand smoke was slowly filling up the passenger compartment, reminding Adolpha of when her father smoked.

            “Well… that’s not the point. I know full well what the world of magi is. Both my parents instilled that in me!”

            “Right. Same as any heir to any line. But there’s still a big difference between someone who is a mature magus and someone who ought to be in school. And I don’t mean the Clock Tower, I mean real school,” Kairi said. “You’re not skipping your classes, are you?”

            “I’m home-schooled.”

            “Ah. Well you still have a lesson plan, right?”

            “I don’t really care about that. I finished the year’s curriculum two months ago so that I could plan this out,” Adolpha said.

            “Plan… what?”

            “Nothing.”

            “Elfbern. Did you come here without your parents’ permission?” Sisigou asked.

            Adolpha paled. “It… it doesn’t matter. I’m the head of the family. Have been for two years.”

            “They’re dead?”

            “One is.”

            “And the other?” the grizzled man asked, tapping the ashes off his stick into the ashtray.

            “Might as well be.”

            “Ah.”

            Sisigou took a very long draw on his cigarette, exhaling grey. “But whichever one is left is still your parent. Right?”

            “She’s a hopeless idealist, stuck trying to make impossible things real,” Adolpha muttered. And yet, the scathing way she said it hurt her. It was like she was insulting her own mother, even though she thought it was just an obvious fact. It just felt wrong.

            “Hopeful.”

            “What?” she asked.

            “If she’s still trying, then she’s hopeful. She hopes her ideals can be actualized. Hopeless means she’s given up on achieving anything.”

            “Well…”

            “Sorry. Semantics, I know.”

            Adolpha fell silent, lost in her own thoughts.

            “Hey, look. I’m not here to judge you. But I’m gonna judge you anyways, and if you don’t like it, well, you can wear my earplugs if you want,” Kairi said, holding them out between the seats.

            “Judge me?”

            “Yeah.”

            Adolpha narrowed her eyes at the scarred old guy who sat up straight and tapped the loose ashes off his smoke. He took a second to clear his throat, and, figuring she wasn’t going to take the pro-offered earplugs, stuffed them back in his pocket.

            “Alright, look. Your little plan to attack the Black Team—it’s fine. It’s what I’d do, probably. Wanting to bring along some other Masters—yeah, good idea. Bringing me—sure. Bringing Cabik? When you’ve already got some bad blood with him and his bro? It sure as Hell ain’t for the purposes of building teamwork or a rapport. I know you’re not bringing him to exonerate him of suspicion. You’re targeting him as the traitor. I don’t know if he is or isn’t actually the guilty party. But I know you don’t like him. You’re hoping you can catch him in the act on this little excursion. You want him to be the guilty one. Hell, you might even frame him as the traitor just to get him out of the way. You’re young. You’re stupid. Yeah, you just might try that.”

            Adolpha’s jaw dropped a little, not sure what to say.

            “Honestly? I’d put my money on the Silver Lizard being the mole. He’s the coldest of us all and he already tried to kill Gene and the priest. Can’t prove it, obviously. But he’s got the most motive and the right character to do it,” Kairi said.  “Cabik? Why the Hell would he betray the team? He’s got one of the strongest and most famous Servants in the world, Achilles, as his Rider. That’s his signature Servant, the one he’s famous for having a catalyst for. He already won a Grail War with him. Well, more like he won the Grail War before it even started to get his catalyst. But that’s beside the point. With that kind of Rider, he’s better off curbstomping the Black Team as quickly as possible and then forcing most of the Red Team into a straight fight before they can think of a good way to counter Achilles. That’s his best shot at the Grail.”

            “Yes, but,” Adolpha tried to start, but she couldn’t think of the right words.

            “You think you’re more clever than you are, Elfbern. And that’s not your fault, that’s because everyone’s been using kiddy gloves with you. So far, the Gum Brothers are the only ones who seem to care enough to warn you about your weaknesses. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about the teammates who get on your case about you being too young and inexperienced. Don’t be so desperate for respect from your elders that you’d ignore common sense. I’d worry about the ones who haven’t even said a thing about it, who _seem_ to support you and offer full respect as an equal ally. They either don’t care what happens to you, or they think they can use you,” the necromancer said, putting out his smoke in the ashtray and closing it.

            Adolpha swallowed quietly, looking down at her lap and smoothing out her knee length black skirt. She felt like she’d just been lectured by her father.. Eventually, she sighed. “T-thank you, sir.”

            “Yeah, yeah. Don’t thank me. I just feel bad for Cabik. He doesn’t really deserve to be put in a position like you put him in,” Sisigou grunted, sitting back in his chair.

            Adolpha sighed again. She needed time to think over what both men told her. Obviously, Sisigou fell into the same category as the Gum Brothers and Gene Rum, professionals, but with streaks of humanity in them, very different from Feend Vor Sembren, Father Kotomine, and Rottweil Berzinsky, who had either thrown away their humanity or suppressed it to the absolute limit.

            But what was really getting to her wasn’t what Kairi said or what Cabik said. She had to struggle powerfully against the urge to be forthright with Kairi and tell him the truth: She only brought Cabik along because she knew everyone would think she suspected him.

            Sisigou had actually been her first pick for the mission, not Gene Rum, not Cabik Pentel. Not because she trusted him, but because she thought he was the most likely to be the traitor.

            She had read his dossier. He had been given a piece of the Round Table as a catalyst, and he had already explained to her in the theater when he told her what happened in the battle that his Saber had been Mordred, King Arthur’s illegitimate son. That meant of all the Knights of the Round Table he could have summoned, out of all those amazingly loyal and chivalrous heroes, the one that was most suited to his personality was the Knight of Rebellion. The fact that he had not worn his earplugs at all and he himself admitted he had trouble following orders added to her suspicion.

            But the main reason why was simply that Saber died in the first battle of the war. While it was possible she had just been outmatched and Sisigou failed to use a command spell in time to save her, it was much more likely that Sisigou had sent her to her death on purpose, or even used a command spell to force her to die to Saber of Black, supposedly Siegfried. He did get his arm with the command spells sliced off, Kotomine verified that beyond doubt, but Sisigou might have deliberately used his arm to defend that way just to have that as an excuse. Sisigou claimed Mordred had told him Saber of Black’s identity just before she passed, but it was much more likely that he _already knew who Saber of Black was_.

            What if he was just trying to soften the blow of having lost their Saber so early by leaking that bit of information? It would certainly make her sacrifice seem much more impressive, and seem less like an immense handicap. But that wasn’t going far enough. The Red Team had not yet confirmed whether Saber of Black was really Siegfried yet. Archer confirmed Saber had some sort of incredible armor on the level of a Noble Phantasm, but that did not conclusively prove his identity. What if they sent their Servants on a silly mission to strike Saber of Black’s back, supposedly Siegfried’s weakness, and it turned out to be an ambush? What if Saber of Black didn’t have a single gap in his defenses? Saber of Black was confirmed to have an immensely powerful, wide-area beam attack, partially by eyewitness testimony of Archer, who observed the end of the fight from afar, and Assassin, who saw the clash of Noble Phantasms occur via her dove network. But neither had been close enough to hear the True Names spoken. Trying to attack him from behind could just be a set-up for another Servant to die by being blown away by that beam.

            Occupied by such considerations more than thoughts of her own immaturity, Adolpha’s eyes went back to the place they had been staring since the start of the long car ride. Kairi Sisigou. And not once did she look away.

 

            “We’re here. The highway has been closed, as per Father Kotomine’s instructions. We and the target will be the only ones on the road,” the Church driver said. Adolpha had already asked his name, but the clean-shaven, bald man dressed in nothing more than a black suit and cap politely said that he had no name. The Church certainly had the advantage over the Association in terms of disposable agents, Adolpha thought. Magi were allergic to not taking credit for what they did and missions they were a part of. The idea of a magus removing their own name in service of the greater good was laughable.

            As a Tuner, Adolpha felt like she understood the kind of job this nameless, hairless man was doing. Thankless, honorless, prideless. She hated it. She hated serving homunculi who had many of the same problems as magi, but even more extreme. But this man, with his unflinching obedience, he must have been a true Christian. Adolpha considered herself Christian, and she had read and studied the Bible many times with both her father and mother, but being a magus usually required a healthy distance from the Church, as magecraft was regarded as heresy to be stamped out. To foster connections with the Church without being extremely devout was to invite a deadly animal into your home, an animal that would look for any excuse to be rid of you. Yes, she admired this man and his selflessness. And to a certain extent, she also feared him and everyone like him.

            Because devotion was rare.

            Devotion was valuable.

            Devotion was dangerous.

            The driver pulled the limo to a stop, turning the sedan so that it would block as many of the lanes of the major highway as possible with its side profile. Then Adolpha tapped both of her teammates and they removed their earplugs (well, Cabik did anyway) and blindfolds.

            “We’re here. It’s time,” Adolpha said. “Remember, a Ruler is usually a saint. Treat her with respect. Leave the talking to me.”

            “Are you going to ask Ruler to draw straws to decide which team she’ll support?” Sisigou said, breaking into a few wry chuckles as he ducked out. Adolpha didn’t let her annoyance show as she stepped into the cool morning air.

            The three Masters all assembled facing the direction Ruler would be coming from. It would only be a few minutes until Ruler arrived. Adolpha drew the silenced Makarov from her hip holster and detached the magazine to make sure it was fully loaded. Then she pushed it back in with a click and holstered it again. Kairi lit another cigarette and quietly loaded two of his corpse finger shells into his shotgun, slotting the ammunition in and snapping the shotgun shut with an air of satisfaction. Cabik, with elegant precision, pulled off his coat and stowed it in the limo. Then he popped out the cufflinks and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows, like a man preparing for a fistfight.

            The old, beat-up truck they were waiting for pulled up into view over a hill, and it drove nearer and nearer until the old man driving it brought it to a gradual stop. They could not see Ruler in the cab—but then, a blonde girl sporting a waist-length braid, wearing a Catholic schoolgirl’s uniform, climbed out from the bed of it, looking around the hilly, forested region that was not too far from Trifas like a curious tourist. For a moment, Adolpha felt a pang of concern. Had they targeted the wrong person? Was this just some student on a roadtrip?

            But then the stranger turned her gaze to Adolpha, and the power in just those piercing blue eyes made the girl shiver. That was not the stare of an ordinary person.

            “Your bounded field, it has tricked this man,” the blonde girl said, gesturing at the driver of her truck. “I must ask that you free him from your influence.”

            Adolpha shook her head. “He’s fine. I’m just making sure he won’t remember anything that happens here, and he’ll drive on back to wherever he came from safely. The secrecy of the war must be protected at all costs. Right, Ruler?”

            The girl nodded, as if she must have suspected that answer and it was fully acceptable to her. “Very well. Mister, you should go back now,” Ruler said, and the man in the truck nodded distantly and threw his vehicle in reverse.

            “Bye bye, now, take care,” he said groggily, robotically, calmly turning around and driving off until he was gone from sight.

            Ruler turned back to the Masters of Red, looking at each of them in turn. “Are you of the Red Faction?”

            Adolpha was a little surprised, but not completely. It was not out of the question that a Ruler would have a sort of natural intuition about these things. “That’s right. I’m Adolpha von Elfbern. This is Kairi Sisigou—” she explained, pointing at the scary man on her left, “—and this is Cabik Pentel. When we learned you were summoned, we came as quickly as possible.”

            Ruler regarded them all with a cold, unfeeling stare. “I am Jeanne d’Arc. The Grail has summoned me because one of the laws of the Holy Grail War has been broken.”

            Adolpha gasped under her breath. Jeanne d’Arc? _The_ Jeanne d’Arc? Though she had already met several figures of legend, it did not lessen the surprise and awe she felt at each new reveal. With the kind of presence Ruler exuded, she was not sure how to possibly approach her.

            “Because two teams of Servants are doing battle in what should be a war of only seven Servants?” Cabik asked, crossing his arms.

            Ruler glanced at him, blinking. “No. Masters banding together in teams is by no means forbidden, and the emergency backup function that summoned the additional seven Servants is an intended feature that has been used correctly. In regards to why I am here, the Grail did not provide that information. I can only suspect foul play.”

            “So you will be searching for the cause of the disturbance?” Cabik asked.

            “Correct. It is my duty not to interfere in the war unless I find proof of a violation. As I made contact with your team first, I must ask that I be allowed to investigate your fortress, Servants, and Masters,” Jeanne said, bowing her head very respectfully as she made the request.

            Cabik cleared his throat and looked down at Adolpha, who realized he was waiting for her, the only uncompromised Master of Red, to give the answer.

            Adolpha gulped a little, and Jeanne seemed to somehow sense that Adolpha was the one in charge, as she returned her attention to the brunette.

            “Is such a thing unfeasible to thee?”

            “No, the Red Team has nothing to hide,” Adolpha managed to say after a bit.

            “Thank you for your understanding,” Ruler said, again bowing her head gracefully.

            Adolpha informed Father Kotomine of the agreement by their telepathic link. She was a little bit glad that he was the one maintaining that spell, as she still was rather concerned for her reserves, and telepathic links were rather expensive if they were stretched more than a few kilometers. Usually mages used other, more efficient means for communication at such long distances, but right now their primary concern was communicating without chance of interception by the enemy, and she certainly would have been at around half her mana reserves by now if she were the one footing the bill. Berserker had already been refilled and she was maxed out as well, but… she was not certain how long Berserker could fight even with both of them full up on mana.

            “ _Yes_ , _I see no reason to deny Ruler this_. _We have nothing to hide_. _Clearing ourselves of suspicion will make it far easier for Ruler to root out the true source of the disturbance_. _I_ _shall inform the rest of the Masters to summon their Servants to the destroyed cathedral in Sighisoara_. _Ruler may interview and investigate that place and all the Servants to her heart_ ’ _s content_ ,” Kotomine said.

            “Are you speaking with an ally?” Ruler asked curiously, and Adolpha blushed a little. How did she find out? She was definitely possessed of mysteriously keen instincts, or something like that.

            “Well, yes. Apologies, this must seem rather rude.”

            “No, no. I am not offended in the least,” Jeanne said, shaking her head fervently. “I noticed you did not seem to bring any of your Servants here. Is that wise? I believe you are in rather dangerous territory.”

            “We left them behind as a show of goodwill,” Adolpha said. “We came here solely to meet and cooperate with you, as any violation to the laws of this war risks the sanctity of the entire event. We sent a letter conveying our intentions by familiar to Yggdmillenia fortress. I do not think even the Black Team is bold enough to attack a peaceful meeting like this.”

            Ruler sighed. “If so, then I fear they may doubt your message.”

            “Eh? Why?” Adolpha asked.

            A sudden surge of mana exploded through the air, and the rear tires of the limo suddenly caught on red fire, the rubber popping open and melting into the asphalt in an instant.

            “Hold it right there!” someone yelled, and all those gathered whirled to see a balding, mustachioed man dressed in a fancy white suit adorned with military-style decorations like medals and epaulettes, some of them denoting his clan of allegiance: Yggdmillenia. He was, despite his fine-quality attire, a bit overweight. Over one of his eyes, he wore a black eyepatch, and around the eyepatch a fresh-looking slice in his face that had clearly gone right through his eye still bore stitches. All in all, he looked perfectly ridiculous.

            “Who the Hell are you?” Adolpha snapped, already perfectly pissed about their only car getting its tires ruined. Of course she recognized his face from the dossiers on the Yggdmillenia members, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of recognition. Yet there was more to it, something about his voice seemed strangely familiar to her, though she could not seem to place it. Had she met him before and just not realized it? She had a knack for remembering faces due to her work as a Tuner, but voices she paid much less attention to. Being unable to remember ticked Adolpha off even more.

            Really, she was more upset at herself for not noticing him sneaking around. But Ruler certainly had a way of commanding all of one’s attention.

            “I am Gordes Musik Yggdmillenia!” the boisterous man announced, folding his arms together. “Master of Black!” Beside him, out of thin air, a tall and clearly quite powerful Servant materialized. He wielded a greatsword in one hand as though it were merely a light stick, and his long white mane blew in the breeze. He matched the description of Saber of Black perfectly.

            “And what do you want, then?” Adolpha shouted. It was no surprise that they’d been discovered there. But there was a reason that they had shown up with no Servants of their own…

            “Of course, I am here to crush each of you! If you submit your command spells to me, I will allow you to surrender and be taken prisoner. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to order Saber to slay you,” Gordes said confidently, lifting his hand to prepare the signal for his Servant to attack.

            “What are you talking about? Didn’t you get our message? We’re not here to fight. We came out here to meet and cooperate with Ruler!” Adolpha said. Hook, line, and sinker.

            Gordes took the papyrus letter they had sent out from a pocket in his suit jacket, unfurling it and laughing at it, then ripping it up and scattering its pieces in the air. “Irrelevant! This is a war! You exposed yourselves to attack, now you must pay the price!”

            “ _Dummkopf_! You’re going to attack the Masters trying to help Ruler find the disturbance in this war?!” Adolpha asked.

            “The disturbance is no doubt on your side, girl!” Gordes yelled. “The Black Team is totally honorable! We have done nothing wrong! Therefore, only your team could be the culprits! That is why I will destroy you right here, right now!”

            “We came to Ruler specifically to prove our innocence! We have welcomed her to investigate us, and are about to take her with us to do so!” Adolpha yelled. “You have no right to attack us right now!”

            “What are you talking about, girl? Ruler does not intervene in the war. You seem to think she’s obligated to help you!”

            “Nothing of the sort. We came without our Servants as a sign of goodwill. There’s nothing we can do against your Saber, that much is true. But if the Black Team has to sink to these depths to win, then the Yggdmillenia clan and everyone part of it must be incredibly weak and cowardly!” Adolpha shouted. Nobody who called themselves a magus said things like that. To make claims like that was to invite open war between families. Her mother and father would have been livid to hear their daughter say such things.

            But it worked. His breath caught in his blubbery throat, and Gordes practically choked on his own spit. The vein that bulged on the fat man’s temple reminded her quite closely of the same reaction she saw from Deimlet Pentel not too long ago. He sputtered and coughed and fumed, practically screaming out of his wounded pride. “How dare you?! Saber, execute them all! Right now!” Gordes roared, throwing his hand out dramatically.

            The order was given.

            Adolpha, Cabik, and Kairi had, probably, less than a few seconds to live.

            Saber of Black hesitated for only a fraction of a second. But it was nowhere near enough for his prey to escape him. He raised his sword and his legs kicked off of the ground, flying fast as lightning, too fast for any human to react. Adolpha only managed to secure a slight hop backwards as he closed the distance to her. He swung his sword down upon Adolpha von Elfbern who had insulted his Master, and so was bound by honor to be slaughtered first.

            Clang.

            But his sword was stopped by an equal and opposite strength.

            She moved even faster than Saber, graceful as a dove, her long braid whipping around behind her now that she had stopped just in front of Adolpha, only narrowly missing Adolpha’s face. But rather than flinch, she was more preoccupied with observing the beauty of that blonde hair waving from the wind produced by her charge, the rays of the run glittering through that mane like it was pure gold. Seeing her up close, able to smell her scent that was so much like the earthen sweetness of petrichor, Adolpha was a bit stunned by her beauty.

            Ruler had stopped Saber’s blade with the shaft of a flagpole which she had materialized along with a suit of armor draped in blue cloth, holding none other than her own banner on it, the symbol of the French battle to reclaim its home in the name of God himself. Even if Ruler had not revealed her own identity, the mere sight of that flag would have done so. Though unveiling your identity was the downfall of many Servants, one such as Jeanne d’Arc, summoned as Ruler especially, had little to fear and much to gain. Her fame alone was a potent weapon against would-be foes, as one like her would definitely boast impressive power beyond what an ordinary Ruler might wield. Yes, a saint like Jeanne d’Arc might very well have been one of the most powerful Rulers possible to summon.

            “Ruler!” Gordes roared in outrage. “What is the meaning of this?!”

            Jeanne pushed forward to force Saber back, and the swordsman allowed it, breaking away and backing up calmly before returning to a guard stance. His eyes never left Ruler, as if sizing her up.  With a safe distance established, Ruler looked up at Gordes and answered him earnestly.

            “They came here outside the confines of the Holy Grail War. As such, if I permitted you to assassinate them here, I would have inadvertently altered the course of the war without good reason. Until my investigation of the Red Team has concluded, so long as they insist upon the truce, they shall therefore be under my protection,” Jeanne said. “However, as a neutral agent, I naturally extend the same protection to the Black faction, if it agrees to be investigated peacefully and to uphold the truce.”

            “Hrrgh,” Gordes growled, hands balling into fists. He must have been starting to realize that he had been provoked into making that mistake. “To Hell with your neutrality! You’re intervening in the war right this very second!”

            “No, as these three would not have been here were it not for me,” Ruler said calmly. “If they had brought their Servants or not asked for safe passage through your territory, I would not have stepped in. However, it goes against my judgment to permit a one-sided slaughter caused by my presence in the war. Therefore, Mr. Musik, I must ask that you withdraw Saber and permit them to return to their base.”

            “Absolutely not! I will not permit it! If you want them to live so badly, tell them to surrender, Ruler!” Gordes bellowed at the top of his lungs.

            Ruler shook her head, clearly sensing the irrationality from the Master of Black rising with his desperation. “Please, listen to me. There is no need for this get violent. If you were to take them prisoner, the war would still become gravely impacted, and I cannot permit that to occur because of me.”

            Gordes seemed to choke on his words for a bit, grinding his teeth together and reaching up to touch his eyepatch like the wound had begun to hurt again. A bit of blood even began to seep from the injury, running down his cheek and staining into his blonde moustache. The emotion in his voice sounded less like a typically arrogant magus, and more like a man on the verge of a broken heart. “I-I will not be humiliated again by another outsider! If you insist on interfering in the war, then I have no choice but to consider you allied with the Red Team!” he yelled.

            “How preposterous—!” Ruler yelled, now quite outraged herself, but she did not have the chance to say any more than that.

            “Saber, defeat her! Alive or dead, I don’t care, just teach her a lesson!” Gordes yelled, and before Jeanne could utter a single word to try to calm the hysteric man down, Saber lunged at her.

            And this time, he was not just executing mere mages.

            He came at her like a grim reaper, swinging his giant sword straight for her throat.

            Ruler met his attack with an equally powerful strike of her banner, and their clash sent the both of them flying backwards. Before Ruler could say anything, Saber was upon her again, this time ripping his sword through the ground to bring it up in an unconventional swing that knocked dirt and asphalt up at Ruler’s eyes an instant before his sword came. But as though she had predicted that maneuver, her arm shielded her face from the debris, and she leapt up into the air just before the blade could carve her from groin to collar. Saber jumped at her with a heart-aimed thrust, and Ruler stabbed with the sharp tip of her flagstaff to meet the point of his sword head-on. Again, they were both knocked away from each other, and both landed almost simultaneously, Ruler on a tree branch, Saber back on the road.

            “Saber of Black, by the power vested in me by the Holy Grail, I command thee: cease!” Ruler shouted, extending a hand at him, and Saber froze up where he stood as if bound by invisible, invincible chains to obey her.

            Adolpha gulped. Even though she already knew full well what powers a Ruler was granted by the Grail, it was still a bit shocking to witness a Servant using a command spell on another Servant. She glanced at the trunk of the car, wondering if she should grab one of the weapons inside it. Not to fight Saber, of course, but rather, to take the fight to his Master. If they took out Gordes, they could contract Saber of Black with Sisigou, and then the scales of power would be completely flipped on Yggdmillenia. But she rapidly reconsidered that. Attacking Gordes would violate the proposed truce and Ruler would stop defending them, and they really weren’t there to attack like that anyways. She noticed the Church driver was using a wench he had taken out from under his seat to lower two proper spare tires from under the limo. He was just going to change the tires in the midst of all this? What an absolute trooper, Adolpha thought, almost wishing she could hire him as a butler.

            “How dare you!? My authority over my Servant exceeds yours! By my own command spell, I order you, Saber, to reject her command and obey me!” Gordes shouted. One of the seals on his extended hand glowed brightly, and then Saber bolted straight for Ruler like a horse right out of the gates, freed from the magic that had stopped him. “And this time, don’t give her the opportunity to give you another order!”

            “This is pointless!” Ruler shouted to little avail, as Saber ran underneath her and slashed right through the tree to knock it over. She hopped down and immediately turned to block the rush of slashes Saber threw at her, each one far surpassing humanity in skill and brute strength, each one jarring her arms. Though she was slightly faster than him, every time she tried to jump away or sidestep him, he followed her within a single step, keeping her in his range, which was not the best range for the length of her standard to be most useful. But Ruler was no weakling, and she could still hear God’s voice in her heart, telling her the most optimal path to the conclusion that she desired————!

             Rather than blocking the next attack with the sturdy shaft of her flagpole, she twirled it like lightning, catching the blade in the cloth of the banner itself and wrapping it up. Saber attempted to stab right through the golden fabric with all his might, sensing an immediate victory if he could overpower it, but the standard held strong around the weapon, as though that flag was made of solid steel. It could only be a Noble Phantasm if it could withstand direct contact with a Servant’s strength like that. Saber let out a grunt of surprise, trying to tug his sword left and right, but it was completely stuck. He could not simply draw it out of the tight embrace of the banner while they were standing at point blank, as the blade was too long.

            “That’s enough, Saber,” Ruler said as she glared up at him intently, holding his sword in place with all her strength, their arms shaking, weapons clattering as he struggled to wrench his weapon free while she struggled to maintain the upper hand in the lock. “Don’t force me to use another command spell. Your Master would then use up another of his own, given the state of his mind.”

            Saber grimaced, but said nothing. Command spells were precious, irreplaceable, powerful things, and while Rulers only had two for every Servant in the war, Masters only had three. It was true that a Master could choose to override all of a Ruler’s commands if they wished, but it would leave them with only one more left, and the final command spell itself was essentially the lynchpin of a Master/Servant contract. To use that one meant the Master gave up all remaining right to issue inviolable orders to their Servant, and the Servant was now free to do as they pleased, even kill their own Master and find another. In that regard, Masters could be said to only have two Command Spells that could be used without risk. The third one, while it was just as powerful as the others, was extremely dangerous to expend.

            And it was not as though Jeanne d’Arc would be in a worse situation than Gordes if she used up both her spells for Saber. A Ruler could spend every single one of their command spells and still be a powerful Servant in their own right. A Master had almost nothing left without theirs.

            So of course Saber hesitated. Adolpha was actually impressed that he halted—it meant that Saber, despite having a shrill Master like that, was still loyal enough to consider what was best for his Master over any thought of having the freedom to find a better one.

            “Saber! Don’t humiliate me!” Gordes roared. The man looked like the vein on his red face was going to pop at any second.

            Saber blinked, then closed his eyes for a moment, as if recognizing something he had been forgetting. If Adolpha had to guess, he was thinking something like, “That’s right. If I listen to Ruler instead of him, my Master’s pride would be even more wounded, and he would never forgive me.” When he opened his eyes, she saw in his expression a renewed resolve, as if he was saying without a single word to Ruler: “My Master may be difficult, but he is still my Master. I shall obey his wishes, even if they are foolish.”

            Ruler seemed to realize that Saber would not bow to her demand, and she opened her mouth to speak one more absolute command: “Saber of Black, stay thy blade!”

            But before that command spell could even begin to affect Saber, Gordes was already using his own.

            “Forget her, Saber! Just beat her!” the proud alchemist said, expending his second spell. Both command spells clashed and negated each other. Now Ruler could ask no more of Saber of Black, and Gordes had but one ultimate order he could issue his Servant. Yet, oddly, Saber smiled. Perhaps, ironically, he finally felt free to obey his Master without any doubts. Though a price had been paid, now they were unburdened by Ruler’s authority. And————

            He could finally go all out!

            Ruler must have sensed the immediate danger, as she unwrapped her banner from his sword and jumped away just as his knee shot up to crush her gut. But he was just a bit quicker on the draw, and, as she sailed out of reach of his knee, he straightened his leg, turning it into a side kick. The attack landed, albeit not cleanly due to her moving in that direction already, but Adolpha heard the impact of that boot against the saint’s cuirass, the metal clanging, but holding strong. Jeanne flew back and flipped onto her hand and knees, carefully holding her flagpole up and away so that the flag would not become dirtied on the ground, an impressive detail that proved her dedication to her role as a flagbearer. She looked up at Saber, panting a little for air.

            Saber glanced up at Gordes, and his Master nodded back to him with a small smile. “I like the fired-up look in your eyes, Saber! Fight as you please! Show her not to trifle with us!”

            Cabik grabbed Adolpha on the shoulder as Saber charged Ruler. “Von Elfbern, the car is fixed. If we stay here, reinforcements from the enemy may arrive and then Ruler would be overwhelmed trying to protect us. We should leave.”

            Adolpha nodded. Now that their ride was fixed, it was time to go. She glanced up at Gordes, who was watching the battle earnestly, swinging his arms around and laughing. “Yes! Just like that, Saber! Watch out for her flag, don’t let her snare your sword again! Excellent! Haha! Well struck, Saber!” At any rate, he was definitely too caught up in watching and cheering his Servant to notice them until they were already speeding down the road. They didn’t have to worry about that, but…

            Ruler was having difficulty with Saber.

            They could not just leave if Ruler was going to be slain.

            Although Jeanne d’Arc was an incredibly famous figure who was said to be the hero that saved France in the Hundred Years War, she had not done so by her own strength. She had not killed a single enemy soldier, nor did she so much as swing her sword at any foe. The only thing she did was carry her flag at the head of France’s armies, standing beside its marshals, offering wisdom that God spoke to her, and convincing and persuading all of the righteousness of their efforts. She was a great hero, but she was not a warrior nor a king. The fact that she had demonstrated skill with her flagstaff that could compete with that of a swordsman beyond humanity like Saber was truly magnificent. There could be no doubt that she was truly accomplished.

            However, the difference between Saber and Ruler was obvious. He was one who had stared battle down, faced it, and triumphed countless times. She was one who had done similarly—but left the fighting to others, as it was not her place to fight. No matter how much skill she possessed with her unconventional weapon, even if it equaled that of Saber with his sword, he had an edge over her that she could never surpass.

            Experience and legend.

            Ruler stabbed with the deadly sharp tip of her pole, striking Saber directly in the chest where his heart should have been. Thud. When she withdrew her weapon, she saw that not even a scratch was left on him. Her attack was simply repelled by his incredible, invincible armor.

            Indeed, they exchanged countless blows in just a few moments while both Adolpha and Gordes watched, enraptured, and though Jeanne could not seem to harm Saber, she also remained untouchable to him thanks to the reach of her flagstaff, speed, and uncanny ability to predict his every move, or so it seemed. No feint tricked her, no unusual strike gave her pause—she was reading him like an open book and if he had no Noble Phantasm of invincibility, that fight would have gone very differently. Then again, Saber was not fighting like a man who could be hurt, but a man who knew that he was invulnerable. He blocked her deadly thrusts with his arm, not his sword, allowed her blows to hit him in his leg, shoulder, head, and focused entirely on positioning and footwork, using his sword solely as a way of forcing Ruler to move where he wanted her to, slowly cutting off each direction she could leap away from him by pushing her into a hill.

            Cornered, the final bout began. He opened with an overhead slash that could have cut right through her shoulder, but she foresaw it and sidestepped, swinging her flag around to bash the base of it into his skull with every ounce of her strength. The power of the blow knocked Saber stumbling backwards, but the hard metal rod still failed to even bruise his temple. But the price of unleashing a full force strike was that the wind-up took longer, and so did the recovery from it. It took only the slightest fraction of a second more for her to draw her flag back, but that was enough for Saber to counter by seizing hold of the flagpole, using all his strength, overpowering her while she was off-balance and forcing her arms out of the way, leaving her guard wide open. With his other hand, Saber quickly brought the edge of his sword to the beautiful, flawless flesh of her neck. She had been bested.

            “Well fought. I surrender,” Ruler said calmly. She did not seem surprised to have been beaten. Rather, it more seemed that she had accepted it as a foregone conclusion, and instead had chosen to place her fate in Gordes’s hands. What did she see in him? Was this a calculated move made by a saint that could hear the voice of God, or was she gambling it all on the possibility of good will and mercy that the man had never shown?

            Adolpha’s hand went straight to her pistol, ready to draw and shoot Gordes. If Ruler died, then the disturbance threatening the war would go unchecked, and that endangered every Master in the war, including herself. The moment the pudgy bastard opened his mouth to give the kill order, she was going to murder him. To Hell with the truce.

            “See, Lord Darnic? It wasn’t a waste after all!” Gordes exclaimed, pride shining through his face as he spoke to his liege through a telepathic link. “We’ve beaten Ruler!” He paused, likely hearing Darnic’s response. “But we beat her! We should take her prisoner!” There was another lull in sound, and Adolpha’s fingers brushed over the grip of the Makarov, while Saber held his sword perfectly still at the very edge of Ruler’s throat, not a single tremble in his grasp or posture. She, too, remained completely stoic.

            “Yes, yes, I understand,” Gordes said, proceeding to sigh heavily, all his enthusiasm draining out of him in that instant. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir.”

            Finally, looking as though utterly defeated, Gordes threw out a hand. “Saber! Let her go. Lord Darnic has decreed that Yggdmillenia will honor the truce proposed by the Red faction until the sun sets in exchange for the same privilege being afforded to the Black faction if Ruler comes to investigate us at any point. Furthermore, we shall not interfere in the affairs of Ruler at any point so long as she remains unbiased. She may travel freely wherever she goes, with whomever she wishes.”

            Saber slowly withdrew and dematerialized his sword, leaving Ruler free to step around him and trot back over to the Red Masters. She did not even bat him an eye or say the slightest thing to him. Adolpha was surprised. Did Ruler really think so little of the man who had just defeated her soundly?

            However, there was one detail she needed to confirm while they were there. She had almost forgotten to do so, but now was her chance. She focused on Saber of Black and, in her mind, opened the book that all Masters may open to examine his status. She saw the trees of his parameters, all the physical ones enormous and venerable, while his magical energy and luck parameters were less so. She checked the name of the spirit, and, when she did so, “Siegfried” wrote itself into that space, confirming the intel that Sisigou had provided was true, else the book would not have filled itself in.

            Adolpha cocked her head. This was a major blow to her suspicions about the necromancer, though not a fatal one. While she was there, she checked his Personal Skills—he possessed Golden Rule at a degraded rank due to owning the Nibelungen treasure, which was unfortunately cursed. He also possessed the Dragon Slayer skill, which denoted one’s prowess and legend as a hunter of the greatest and most powerful of all Phantasmal Species. Having it at rank A, Siegfried was definitely one of the greatest dragon hunters of all time. And of course, for he was the one who defeated Fafnir. Lastly, she checked his Noble Phantasms by turning the page in her mind, and indeed, Siegfried owned Balmung and the Armor of Fafnir, completely confirming his identity beyond all doubts.

            “Hurry it up, von Elfbern, we have places to be,” Cabik yelled at her as he climbed inside the limo. Adolpha saw that Kairi was standing there, glaring intensely at Saber through his sunglasses, and she wondered if he was about to do something incredibly stupid. Ah. Perhaps he was not the traitor after all if he was this genuinely hurt and upset. Thinking that made her then feel sad that she had suspected him so wholeheartedly up to that point, given that she had already seen him like this. Had she simply been afraid of Kairi’s scary features all along? Was she judging him by his appearance, not his actions?

            She decided to pre-empt whatever he was going to do with some harmless stupidity of her own.

            “Siegfried!” Adolpha shouted, acting a bit like one of the stars of American wrestling, pointing a finger at Saber, who turned to look at her with an inquisitive expression. “You’re going down! Saber of Red’s defeat shall not be in vain!”

            Saber did not say anything, but he did smile a little at her as he dematerialized.

            “So the Red Team did discover his identity,” Gordes muttered under his breath, chewing his fingernail anxiously.  “No matter! Saber is the strongest! He will not lose to weaklings like you who hide behind the skirt of Ruler!”

            Adolpha turned and looked at Gordes, placing her hands on her hips and sticking her tongue out at him. She didn’t really need to, but it only felt right to rub their apparent victory in his face. “We’re gonna kick your ass too, fat man!”

            “Fat? Why, I—the nerve of it!” Gordes bellowed, struggling not to break his own orders.

            Ruler looked at Adolpha with deep disapproval, and the strength of her charisma shut Adolpha down before she could start laughing like a little girl.

            “You would taunt and jeer at one who has done nothing but his duty and agreed to your demands?” Ruler asked Adolpha. “Shame on you.”

            Adolpha tore her gaze away from the Servant and looked at the ground. Just hearing that was enough to make her feel like human garbage. But now that Siegfried was gone, Kairi seemed to recover his senses and climbed into the car. Ruler, however, did not climb into the vehicle. She tapped her foot, seemingly waiting for Adolpha to do something.

            “What is it?” Adolpha asked, peeking up at the beautiful Servant for only a split second before again wilting at the reproachful stare she was being given.

            “Surely even a magus understands what one ought to do when one has spoken out of line,” Ruler said, crossing her arms together.

            Adolpha’s heart nearly stopped. Was Ruler really waiting for Adolpha to… apologize to her enemy?

            “Do you think I’ve got no self-respect?” Adolpha mumbled, unable to muster a stronger response to Ruler with the condition her feelings were in.

            “When you disrespect your enemies, you are seeking respect that you do not have. You believe that by denying it to others, you will win it from yourself and everyone else. You shall not,” Ruler said.

            Each word after the last felt like an even more severe hammer blow to Adolpha’s heart, because it was absolutely true. She was headed for a dangerous precipice, about to fall right off it, the delicate balancing act she had been playing for so long tilting. She was about to just say a quick ‘sorry’ to Gordes to end the matter before the worst, but Ruler was not finished.

            “It does not matter who you are or who your enemy is—to show no respect is lose all respect. God has always punished those who lack respect the most severely of all, and with what you have said, God will not favor you.” Ruler’s voice grew more and more severe, especially the moment that God came into the picture. The last five words were delivered like a condemnation straight to Hell, and Adolpha’s eyes fogged up as her soul writhed and squirmed in the agony of the weight of its sins pressing down upon it. Ruler paused, eyes widening as she seemed to finally notice what she was doing to the poor girl. Her face scrunched up, she grit her teeth, she felt the burning fluid run down her cheeks, and she broke down.

            “Oh, for the love of—!” Cabik said from inside the car, stopping himself just before he committed blasphemy in front of a saint. “Are you crying?”

            “Nn, nooo,” Adolpha moaned, reaching up with both hands to try and wipe the falling tears away. The fact that everyone now recognized it only made her feel even worse, believing that there was no way any of them would ever respect her again. She got louder, sniffling, trying desperately to restrain herself, but the humiliation was too much to bear. She had been holding all this frustration and stress in since she left home—now it was like the dam had burst, and there was no stopping the flood.

            All the fear, all the hate, all the anger, all the sadness she had pent up deep inside her heart just took the chance to tear its way out of this one chink in her armor.

            Her mother was going to die.

            And she was going to die hundreds of kilometers away from her mother, her home, in a foreign land, in a war she didn’t intend to join, surrounded by enemies and future enemies, and not a single person cared about her. No, even if she was at home, she would have only had emotionless dolls masquerading as human beings around her. She was totally alone.

            “A-ah,” Ruler mumbled meekly, lifting an armored gauntlet to her lips in concern, the metal plates clinking against each other. “A-apologies, miss Elfbern, I did not realize… I, you see, I have been told that I sometimes lecture too harshly.” She reached out to Adolpha, gently taking hold of her shoulder to try and soothe her, but the brunette ripped herself away from the touch and turned around and collapsed to her knees on the road, bursting into weepy sobs.

             “Oh, dear, not again,” Jeanne said, awkwardly glancing around, clasping her hands together as if embarrassed at herself and trying to look innocent, or perhaps she was praying to the Lord for a quick and clean resolution to the outburst.

            Gordes watched for a moment, then shook his head, all his blustering anger just gone, replaced entirely by pity. He turned and left to return to his fortress, and, under his breath, he said, “Those Red faction bastards, sending a child to fight their war. Saber, you and I will make them pay for their crimes against humanity.”

            Adolpha, thankfully, did not hear him over the sound of her own sorrow, or else she would have just become more pathetic as she shook and desperately tried to suck in all her tears and noises and force it all back down her throat, set her emotions aside and recover herself like a true magus should, but she could not even formulate a single coherent thought, let alone use self-suggestion.

            Ruler saw that Gordes had vanished, and cleared her throat. “Ah, miss Elfbern, I believe an apology to Mr. Musik is no longer necessary. So if that is what is bothering you… No, I see, it is not really about that, is it?”

            Adolpha could no sooner muster an answer than snap her fingers and win the Holy Grail War. She heard Ruler step around in front of her, but didn’t care what she did or said anymore.

            Suddenly, hands wrapped around her and pulled her up into the tightest, sweetest hug Adolpha had ever felt before.

            Not the hug of her mother, which was never unrestrained, as she was a magus who would never openly display her feelings.

            Not the hug of her father, which was freely given, but masculine, rough, more playful than meaningful.

            It was the hug of a girl who was never taught such silly things as always keeping one’s emotions in check and knew how delicate the heart of a maiden was because she was one herself.

            Adolpha’s chin was pulled in to rest on Jeanne’s shoulder, embraced so tightly that she could scarcely breathe, limp in the saint’s arms.

            “There, there,” Jeanne whispered, petting Adolpha’s hair soothingly. “You’ll be fine. Shhh.”  

            Though it embarrassed her deeply at first, Ruler’s touch and embrace was so relaxing that she  just could not believe it. The overpowering sadness and grief just ran right out of her, and the young German girl finally, for the first time in a long time, felt like everything really would be _alright_.

            She could smell Ruler, feel her warmth that heated the cold in her bones, feel the true apology that the saint felt towards her, and pure acceptance. Jeanne did not even mind the tears dripping onto her armor. She was simply far too good for Adolpha, an existence that she did not deserve to be held by.

            It was not long before Adolpha’s tears were reduced to just sniffles, and Adolpha could not help but hug Ruler back, genuinely so thankful for the succor she had given her. She had a strange thought that Ruler would make an amazing mother—but of course, Jeanne d’Arc had been denied that chance by fate. At that realization, the girl’s misery shifted from her own woes to sympathy for the spirit of one who was already long dead, and whose story had already been written into a bad end. It wasn’t enough to make her start crying again, but it was like a poignant note of melancholy born atop a great hill of other woes.

            She knew she was being ridiculous, a complete failure of a magus, and that there was no way in Hell she could salvage any sort of respect from her team at this point. But while Jeanne was holding her, she still felt okay.

            Ruler did not pull away or show the slightest hint of discomfort for the few minutes that she comforted Adolpha. She only broke off when the pitiful girl released her, pulling away so that she could look at Adolpha’s face and ensure she was alright. “There. Now, don’t you feel much better?”

            Adolpha nodded quietly. It was true. It felt like she had resolved at least a few of her doubts and worries and aired out most of the emotions that she had repressed for too long. She managed to dry her face completely with the cuff of her sleeve, and, while she still felt like shit, at the very least she had no more tears to cry for the time being.

            “Good, good,” Ruler said with an approving nod. “Now then, would you kindly bring me to your base?”

 

            The car ride was short and deathly quiet. Adolpha and Ruler sat next to each other, while Kairi and Cabik sat across from them, divided by the car’s ice chest.

            Adolpha did not know what to say. Both Cabik and Kairi refused to even look at her. She could guess what they were thinking. Ruler, on the other hand, seemed genuinely fascinated with watching the countryside pass by the window, not really bothered or occupied with what had just happened. That was fine, though. What did she have to be upset by?

            Adolpha opened the cooler and took out one of the chilled bottles of water in it, ignoring the bottles of sacramental wine. She was quite thirsty, and chugged the entire bottle in just a few seconds, wiping her mouth dry and sighing, just absolutely depressed. She didn’t even have the energy to try to think about how to cover up what happened. What was even the point? She didn’t deserve to be anything like a leader of the Red faction, anyways. Cabik and Kairi had, no doubt, already informed the priest, who had certainly informed the rest of the Masters. Her shot at legitimacy as a Master and peer had been utterly wasted. And the real kicker was, she was so close to coming out of that situation with a damn good result. For the second time that day, she went one step too far in the heat of the moment, said one unnecessary thing, and might as well have stuck her gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

            The necromancer, meanwhile, did grab the wine for himself, popping the cork with a knife he pulled out of his jacket and drinking straight from the mouth of the bottle. He was a big man, but he did not nearly manage to drink the whole thing in one breath.

            Cabik eventually spoke. Since they were only driving to Sighisoara, there was no point in blindfolding or earplugging them—it wouldn’t reveal anything sensitive. That meant Cabik could stare directly at Adolpha and put the full weight of what he had to say in her.

            “You’re an embarrassment to our team.”

            Adolpha did not say anything. She just looked down at everyone’s feet.

            “The only way you could save any grace at this point is to just give your command spells and your Servant to my brother.”

            Adolpha closed her eyes, sighing.

            “Then go home and do your duty as a Tuner.”

            Adolpha opened her mouth. She was finally ready to admit that this was all so very stupid and she had no place here. Yes, she was just going to accept that offer. There was no point in continuing on in this war for her. Berserker wouldn’t even understand that his Master had changed in the first place, let alone blame her for it—there was nothing to lose from walking away from it. All she had to do was face Old Man Acht’s judgment for running away from her responsibilities and stealing all those things, which might just wind up as him executing her or turning her into some kind of experiment, like her mother. But at this rate, even that would be preferable to staying in the war and destroying her pride and the pride of her family.

            “I doubt many people alive right now can boast that they were chided by the Maid of Orleans,” the Church driver said suddenly. “And after being scolded, they were then consoled by her as well. Why, I would believe that there are many believers in God and her legend that would sell their soul to have been in your shoes just now.”

            Adolpha’s brow furrowed, and she pinched her skirt in surprise and conflicting feelings.

            “Certainly, I believe there are few who could stare the living spirit of a saint like that in the face and not cry when rebuked with such intense fervor, young or old, man or woman,” the chauffeur added, glancing in his rear view mirror at the olive-skinned bear of a man who had demanded for Adolpha to give up. “You included, Mr. Pentel.”

           “Nonsense. I would not do anything that would invoke her enmity in the first place,” Cabik said dismissively. But then, for just a moment, his eyes and Ruler’s locked together, and he averted his gaze immediately. Just what had he seen in her expression that had cowed him so?

            Adolpha thought long and hard. The Church driver was clearly attempting to lift her spirits, almost like he wanted to convince her not to abandon the war. It was a strange stance to take.

            “Mr. Driver, why are you butting in?” Adolpha asked, too curious not to.

           “Hmm. I just find it amusing that your cohorts seem convinced that you are too young to be a worthy partner, as Jeanne d’Arc could not have been much older than you when she set out to save France,” the nameless agent said, tipping his black cap in the mirror at both the girls.

            Jeanne closed her eyes, her face passive, as if reminded of something that she relived for but a moment.

            Adolpha, meanwhile, blinked rapidly, taking in that fact for herself. Of course she knew that Jeanne died young, but she had never thought about just how young she really was.

            “You would compare this brat to the Maid of Orleans? What a waste of breath,” Cabik snapped.

            “Though few of us may claim to hear his voice, nevertheless, God works through us all, and in ways mysterious and uncanny,” the driver replied curtly.

            “Amen,” Ruler interjected quietly, opening her eyes, reminiscence over.

            “She’s a poor magus with a weak class of Servant. Berserker. Pfft. She won’t be turning the tide of this war, one way or another,” Cabik said confidently.

             Like a switch was flipped, Adolpha turned from despondent to seething. It was just like back at the church when she faced Deimlet’s challenge to her right to be Master. Cabik was starting to really piss her off.

            It was the insults, really. Whether they were true or not wasn’t the issue—it was that they were said in bad spirit, meant to mock her, not convince her of facts. Kairi was right that the Pentel brothers were especially concerned with her presence in the Holy Grail War, but what he was trying to imply was that they were looking out for her best interests, and by now it was painfully evident that it was the opposite. No, even if the Gum Brothers were totally right and Adolpha had less than a snowball’s chance in Hell of coming out of the war alive, let alone the victor, the way they said it was all Adolpha needed to be convinced to prove them dead wrong. This was her pride as a magus. Even if it had been wounded, even if she had shot herself in the foot, she would absolutely not put up with _this man_ rubbing it in.

            “Shut the fuck up! _Fich dich_ , _fotze_!” Adolpha shouted at Cabik.

            “Aww, you going to cry? You want to go get your mommy and have her talk to the big mean Master for you?”

            “When the Black faction gets taken down, you’re gonna be first on my list,” Adolpha said, bristling.

            Cabik just burst out laughing. “What, are you going to cry me to death?”

            Adolpha did not rise to his bait, but instead just quietly smiled at him, like she had seen Semiramis smile so many times. She must have gotten the impression of that sinister, knowing smile just right because that shut him up. She could only imagine the chill running up his spine.

            “I don’t need to. My Servant is stronger than yours,” the brunette said, leaning back into her seat.  She wasn’t sure whether she was about to repeat the same mistake she’d already made twice that day, but that didn’t matter to her. The only thing she cared about that moment was that she needed to pull this bastard off his high horse.

            “Horseshit,” Cabik snapped. “Mine is one of the strongest in all of history. Achilles. Of the Trojan War. You do know who that is, right?”

            “Is that all?” Adolpha asked, cocking her head at him, maintaining the smirk as she crossed her legs. “My Servant, even if he’s in a _weak class_ , is even better.” This next word she said very, very slowly, enunciating every single syllable. “Her-a-cles.”

            It took a moment for him to put it all together, and then Cabik’s smug and superior expression transformed into as murderous a glare as Adolpha had ever seen anyone wear. She was almost positive he was going to reach out and grab her by the throat and strangle her—but he somehow held himself back, likely because Ruler was sitting right there and could have snapped his wrist like a twig.

            “You…” Cabik growled, balling his hands into fists.

            “Hey! Are you trying to start a fight?” Kairi yelled, finally breaking his silence. Yes, she really must have gone way too far. But she didn’t regret it one bit. “You do know what that Heroic Spirit means to the Gum Brothers, right?”

            “I know full and well,” Adolpha said, calmly keeping her eyes on Cabik. “And that’s why my threats hold water. Do you really think the mere #2 hero of ancient Greece could ever _possibly_ hope to match the #1?”

            “Miss Elfbern, I do not know what history is between you and him, but you mustn’t provoke him any further,” Ruler said forcefully. Again, the charisma in her tone froze Adolpha up. At least this time she had said everything she meant to say.

            Adolpha went silent, looking out the window at the land passing them by. She didn’t even look at Cabik, but given his complete silence and the fact he never stopped glaring at her, it seemed clear that he was absolutely furious.

            Good.

 

            When they arrived at the cathedral, once great and beautiful, now just a hollow ruin, Ruler gawked at the sheer destruction that had been visited upon the house of God.

            “The Black Team attacked this? The official Church sanctuary of the war?” Ruler asked, and for a moment Adolpha swore she could see anger creep into the beautiful girl’s expression as she squatted down to pick up a half-melted gilded cross from amongst the rubble in the parking lot. Adolpha happened to be at the exact angle where Ruler’s skirt spread, widening the gap of the already fairly wide slit in it, giving her a perfect view of what lied between Ruler’s legs, and gulped, averting her gaze before she could get caught staring at the saint’s lovely, smooth thighs and the heavenly white of her panties. Sheesh, as if her tremendous breasts that even her armor failed to cover up weren’t hot enough. She recalled that Jeanne had retainers in life who helped her dress while at war, men, who testified that they never felt the slightest lust towards her in spite of her beauty thanks to Jeanne’s sheer faith and devotion to God.

            Indeed, even this very moment, Ruler likely wasn’t even thinking about what others thought of her appearance or how much she showed off accidentally or not, only about her purpose, her duties. Adolpha felt like a total slimeball compared to those Frenchmen. And yet, she really wanted to peek a little more. Ruler had that kind of innocent beauty that enabled the worst of Adolpha’s hormones.

            Adolpha walked away to remove the temptation completely, slapping her cheeks to get her mind straightened out like she did at Einzbern castle whenever she bathed with the homunculi or walked in on one dressing itself. She went to the busted doors of the church, stepping over the broken glass on the way into the vestibule.

            “When will the Servants arrive?” Ruler asked in the distance behind Adolpha, and she heard Cabik’s answer.

            “They are quite a ways away and in the mountains, so it will take at least three hours.”

            Adolpha looked around the deserted room, seeing nothing of interest. One thing that she had been interested in was trying to salvage whatever was left of her things in the shattered remains of her truck, something she’d forgotten to even try before. She had found her father’s shotgun, but it was broken in two, and there were no signs of any catalysts. There were plenty of clothes still strewn about the parking lot and the trees, but they were all burnt or torn up. She was willing to bet that Kotomine had shrewdly stolen all the catalysts while Adolpha was recovering from the duel with Deimlet, except, of course, for Berserker’s catalyst, which Berserker was currently using as a weapon, oddly enough. She would need to talk to the priest about having them returned to the Einzberns.

            Adolpha heard someone dragging something, and turned to see Sisigou dragging several bodies of dead homunculi into the building on a tarp. “What are you doing with those?” she asked.

            “I’m a necromancer,” he replied matter-of-factly, pushing his sunglasses up. That’s right, Adolpha thought. Necromancers commonly utilized many if not all parts of corpses as tools and materials for their magecraft. No doubt this one was going to replenish his stocks of Mystic Code ammunition for that shotgun he always carried around. Homunculi were an unusual choice of subject for materials, however. Usually the corpses of magi were preferred, followed by the bodies of those with magic circuits, even if untrained, and lastly the bodies of individuals with no circuits at all. There was an understanding that homunculi, due to their artificial nature, tended to be bad luck for necromantic magecraft, causing failures of what would otherwise be perfectly trivial spells due to the world itself rejecting their existences, the same reason why homunculi tended to die in just a few years after creation. Adolpha only knew all this because of how many times she had been asked to persuade necromancers to do business with the Einzberns, and how many times those desired customers had explained to her that it was impossible.

            “But those are homunculi,” Adolpha said. “They’re no good for necromancy.”

            “Maybe if you’re untalented,” Kairi said with a shrug.

            Adolpha cocked her head as she watched him continue on into the chapel proper where there were even more dead bodies for him to work with. Perhaps a top-class necromancer like him could make do even with the lowest quality of raw materials.

            Ruler’s armored boots crunched on the glass of the front doors and she stepped in, glancing at the brunette on her way deeper into the building, her eyes scanning all the damage that had occurred as if she was tracing out the entire battle step-by-step, blow-by-blow. “I see, several distinct battles took place in the chapel, and—you. Necromancer. What right do you have to perform the dark arts in the house of God?”

            “Calm down, Ruler. I’m not doing anything yet. I’m just gathering good bodies, I already know to take them outside before I do my work.”

            “…That is good, then,” Ruler replied haltingly, as if still quite disturbed, but unable to come up with a reason for him not to do it at all.

            Adolpha sighed.

            Lastly, Cabik came into the cathedral, his eyes locked on Adolpha the entire time as he passed through the vestibule into the chapel. She met his gaze equally, prepared for him to strike at any time. But he did not.

            With the others gathered in the chapel, Adolpha took the chance to duck into the ladies’ room, which she had been anxiously standing outside of waiting for them to get settled in so that she could run and check to see if the water still ran. She threw on a faucet, finding that yes, like a miracle from Heaven, the water pipes hadn’t been damaged. The giant hole in the restroom wall was a bit disconcerting, but one stall was still standing and had an intact toilet, thankfully.

            Once her business was concluded, Adolpha dutifully washed her hands, and then her face, rubbing her eyes and asking herself if she really intended to go on with this war as a member of the Red Team.

            Suddenly a deep voice grunted at the door, and she felt the room shatter around her. It was not the walls breaking, but the bounded field she’d set up while on the toilet, just in case _he_ decided to try something. With the shattering of the field came a burst of flame around the intruder, and she knew that it was Cabik because who else would come after her?

            The door slammed open with far too much force for him to be coming in just to talk about something, and she whirled, drawing her pistol and aiming it directly at Cabik, who had extinguished the fire that had caught on his arm with some sort of spell or another, leaving his sleeve smoking a little. But that didn’t impress her at all. When he saw the gun pointed straight at his unprotected face, Cabik froze. She made sure the sights were perfectly aimed at the center of his forehead.

            “You think I wouldn’t expect you to try something like this?” Adolpha asked.

            Cabik grit his teeth at her like a wolf baring his fangs. He looked down at her like he was looking at human scum.

            “So you’re not completely oblivious after all, then,” Cabik snarled. “A surprisingly decent bounded field from you. I didn’t even notice it until it was too late. A shame you wasted all that effort with something as paltry as mere flames.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Adolpha said, sweating a little with the nerves, gently starting to squeeze the trigger to be even closer to firing at the slightest movement from him. “So, what, you were going to come in and beat me up on the toilet?”

            “If you were still on it, yes. I imagine for a girl like you that would have been especially crushing to your dignity, but since crying like a baby in front of the enemy was not enough to persuade you to abandon the war, I might have wound up just crushing your trachea and leaving it at that,” Cabik growled.

            Adolpha, strangely, had the bizarre image of herself on the toilet and choking on Cabik’s erection, which she imagined to be so large that it caused her throat to bulge visibly when he shoved the whole thing down. He was holding her by her hair and forcing her head up and down while she could scarcely breathe, fingering herself, on the verge of orgasm every time her chin bumped into his ballsack. She could taste every inch pushing past her tongue, smell his pubic hair, feel the stray hairs caught in her lips, feel the heat of his bulk against her, hear the sound of herself slobbering all over him, savor the pulsing, pounding electricity in her insides. It was not just vivid, it felt real.

            Adolpha gasped, blinking rapidly, shuddering as she forced the invasive sights, sounds, and tastes out of her head with a rapid self-suggestion to focus on the threat. What just happened? Where was her mind going? It was just like that time in the hotel when she had the sudden hallucination, only this time she was able to push the vision aside thanks to being on the edge of life or death. What the Hell was it? Was she going insane? Her magic crest felt like it had burst into flames on her belly, aching and crawling under her skin like ants. Her legs felt wobbly with the growing arousal tingling in her gut.

            “Scared? You should be, girl,” Cabik said, stepping forward as he noticed her starting to shake and shiver.

            “Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot!” Adolpha shouted, backing into the sink in response. These things only started happening after she betrayed the Einzberns. If it had only happened once, she could have written it off as a bizarre flight of fancy. But now it was definitely no coincidence. Was it some sort of curse they’d placed on her without her knowledge? A curse passed down by her family line from the day they swore to serve the Einzberns? But what kind of curse would do a thing like this?

            “You don’t have the guts,” Cabik snorted, taking another step at her.

            She pulled the trigger and shot right past his ear, a warning shot. At least her aim was still accurate. It would have been silly if she’d accidentally shot him.

            Cabik stopped approaching, popping his neck. “Alright, maybe you do. But let me make myself clear: I’m not leaving this room until you’ve been taught a lesson. You really think I’m afraid of a firearm? You think a mercenary like me in this day and age doesn’t have any protection from them?”

            “Get out, right now, or I’ll put it between your eyes,” Adolpha hissed, jerking her gun at him threateningly.

            The door swung open, and Ruler stepped in, glancing between the two Masters with an inquisitive stare. “I heard your gunfire.” That was natural, given that a silencer does not perfectly eliminate all the noise of a gunshot like the movies tried to claim. “What is the meaning of this?”

            “Me and him, I guess you could say we’ve got a grudge that needs to be settled,” Adolpha said.

            “Are you not cooperating Masters?” Ruler asked, concerned.

            “We can be, if he wants that,” Adolpha said, shifting around in place to try and work out some of the soreness in her muscles that were straining themselves with how tense she was. “But he came in here to be very _uncooperative_.”

            “What sense is there in cooperating with a child like you? We’d all be better off if you just killed yourself,” Cabik snapped, turning and storming out past Ruler, who was at such a loss that she just stared at him as he went.

            “This is wrong,” Jeanne said to Adolpha after Cabik’s footsteps had left. “I would like it if you could try to make amends with him. From what I have seen, you are equally responsible for this escalation. If you are allies, then you should remain so, at least until the opposing faction has been vanquished.”

            Ruler’s words were not backed up by the full strength of her immense charisma, likely because Ruler herself was conflicted about what she was saying. It made it so much easier for Adolpha to brush them aside and give them no credence.

            “That man will never accept me as an ally. As far as I’m concerned, the Pentel brothers are just as much my enemy as Yggdmillenia,” the brunette said, stowing her pistol back in the holster and looking back into the mirror at herself, fuming and lost in her own thoughts.

            Ruler reached up an armored finger to touch her chin, thinking quite hard herself. “Then would it not be better to have your Servants do battle, rather than pitting human life against human life?”

            Adolpha thought about it. And then she smiled bitterly at the notion. Heracles was indeed superior to Achilles in fame and power, that much everyone agreed upon. But with her as a Master—it would be like having the best gun in the world and being quadriplegic, trying to fight someone with a slightly inferior gun and all his arms and legs. She had no illusions about her chances in a Servant versus Servant duel with Cabik. She was, ironically, better off trying to kill him herself. In fact…

            Adolpha was probably better off trying to win the entire war herself.

            She giggled morbidly at the absurdity, wanting to cry all over again. There were thirty generations of Elfberns preceding her, and she was a failure to each and every single one.

            Ruler waited for an answer of some kind for a little while, and, sensing that Adolpha had none to give, shook her head and left.

            Finally alone, Adolpha immediately tried to wash the lingering flavor and sensations of that hallucination out of her mouth by gargling as much water as she could, and failed. It took several minutes just for the inferno in her magic crest, feeling like a sharp cramp, to slowly fade back to normal. She thought about it a bit. Her crest had been acting up for a while, and it seemed to coincide with hallucinations sometimes. What in the world was going on with it? Was it the cause of the visions, or was it fighting them off without her knowledge? There was so much she didn’t know, so much she didn’t understand, one thing after another, never a chance to stop and think and gather herself.

            It was all so fucking infuriating.

            Adolpha balled up her fist and punched the mirror so hard that the entire thing cracked like lightning bolts streaking from her knuckles. She pulled her hand back, seeing the twinkling dust of glass and silver falling from her skin starting to mix with the red of her own blood, and stared at her shattered reflection. She was surprised her hand hadn’t broken along with the mirror. In fact, despite being sliced up, it felt pretty serviceable, opening and closing it easily. Then again, she’d never punched a mirror before, so she had no experience to judge it against.

            Suddenly, a dove came and landed on the sink beside her, staring up at her with its beady eyes.

            “What do you want, Assassin?” Adolpha asked.

           The dove hopped over to her hand, peering at the blood dripping into the sink. Then, without any further ado, it flew off as quickly as it came.

            “Figures,” she sighed. She turned on the faucet and ran her bloody fist under the tap.

 

            “ _Are you in need of guidance_ , _young Elfbern_?” Kotomine’s voice rang through her mind. Assassin must have informed him of what happened.

            “Not interested,” Adolpha said as she bandaged up her hand with the first aid box in the limo.

            “Huh?” the driver asked, but Adolpha pointed at her head, and he nodded in comprehension and rolled up the tinted window between the driver’s compartment and the luxury passenger compartment to give her privacy.

            “ _There is quite some time before our Servants arrive there_. _I am aware that this war has become troubling for you_ , _in particular your relationship with Cabik Pentel_. _Would you like to talk about it_?”

            “Not in the least,” she snapped.

            “ _Animosity within our faction harms our unity and coordination_ ,” he said. She was about to roll her eyes, but then he continued. “ _More importantly_ , _we need you to be our unbiased adjudicator and our face to our Servants_ , _the Yggdmillenia_ , _and Ruler at the moment_. _I cannot understate your importance to our cause_. _Especially with the threat of a traitor in our ranks_ , _you are the only one that any of us can trust_. _Making an enemy of Master Pentel means that if you accuse him of being the mole_ , _he can counter that you are attempting to frame him even if you present strong_ , _albeit inconclusive evidence_.”

            Adolpha’s eyes widened with a realization that was more annoying than reassuring as she continued to wind the bandages around her knuckles.

            “Are you saying I’m the Red Team’s Tuner?”

            “ _Hmm_. _It is not an inaccurate comparison_.”

            She wanted to scream. She quit that job for a reason.

            “ _Realize_ , _von Elfbern_ , _that right now a Tuner is precisely what we need_.”

            “You already said that.”

            “ _I repeat it because it is true_. _And because it is a Tuner_ ’ _s duty to never burn any bridges_. _You are a coordinator_ , _one who knows people and knows how to negotiate_. _You have already shown some of that talent to the team_.”

            This time she could not stop herself from rolling her eyes. He was either trying to flatter her or mocking her. Either way, she was ready to cut off the telepathic link.

            “ _I was certainly impressed with how you presented your plan this morning_ , _and your plan to win an early lead with Ruler_ ’ _s favor_. _You successfully convinced her to not only come with you_ _and get away from the Black faction_ ’ _s territory_ , _where they could have manipulated her against us easily_ , _you succeeded so well that she even fought Saber of Black to defend you_. _Do not underestimate the magnitude of your victories today_. _They may seem minor_ , _but remember that_ ‘ _every battle is won or lost before it is ever fought_.’”

            Adolpha stopped wrapping her hand for a moment, blinking at the seat in front of her. “Father, I know you know I cried like a little girl today. I was laughed at by the entire team before that. It must be nice to ignore my failures.”

            “ _Failures_?”

            “Yes.”

            “ _I saw no failures today_.”

            “Do not lie to me.”

            “ _It is no falsehood_. _Do you believe making the entire team laugh together is a failure_? _A jester would consider it a grand victory_.”

            “I’m not a fucking jester!” Was he trying to piss her off?

            “ _Being a proper fool is a rare and cherished talent amongst people_. _It is one of the most important and valuable qualities a person can have_. _A laugh_ — _shared amongst comrades_ — _creates solidarity and relieves stress_ , _smoothes the pains and angers we all harbor in our hearts_.”

            “So I’m a funny idiot to you? To everyone?” she asked, about ready to try her hand at putting a fist through the car seat.

            “ _You are the one around whom the entire team can unite_. _Inexperienced_ , _you have not fully mastered your own heart yet_ , _sometimes a bit foolish_ , _brave_ - _hearted_ , _rash_ , _kind_ , _thankful when it is due_. _You are a strange sort of individual to be a part of our team of professionals_ , _and yet I suspect we would have already splintered into factional fragments if not for your presence_ ,” Kotomine explained as calmly as a priest could.

            “ _Do not feel like the team has not noticed you and your contributions_. _As I told you last night_ , _your Berserker saved me when I was pinned down and surrounded by enemy troops_. _By extension_ , _he saved Sisigou as well who was in even worse straits_. _And my Assassin_ , _too_ , _owes you and your Servant a great debt_. _I have already informed them of your successful interactions with Ruler_. _Even if they will never admit it_ , _they are definitely impressed_. _I believe even Pentel feels surprised by it_.”

            “You have a funny way of trying to cheer me up, priest,” Adolpha grumbled. It felt like he was stringing back-handed compliments into back-handed insults left and right.

            “ _I am not cheering you_. _I am merely informing you of my thoughts regarding you_. _They are neither wholly positive nor wholly negative_ — _however_ , _they speak very plainly of your necessity to our side of the conflict_. _Why should I think any less of you for making a silly error and making our team laugh in union_? _Why should I think any less of you for making a silly error and becoming closer to Ruler_ , _a crucial player in this war_? _I would only think less of you if you chose to force a confrontation with Pentel that is not warranted_. _Then you would lower dramatically in my estimations of usefulness to our faction_.”

             The supervisor of the Church sure had a way with words, assuming he was not just lying. Yet, his insistence was oddly comforting to Adolpha. She was almost certain he was calling her the actual definition of a useful idiot, but that was only natural. It’s not like she expected to be treated as anything else by the team of pros.

            Wait. If everyone thought she was a wreck of a magus, hardly any threat at all, it meant she could surprise them that much more. She could convince them she was harmless at best and maneuver into a situational advantage so that when the Black team fell, she would have the Red Masters still standing focusing on each other rather than her. She could ambush the winner, taking him and his Servant out while they are utterly exhausted and easy pickings.

           Before Adolpha knew it, her heart was beating hard in her chest with the thought of a clear chance at victory. It wasn’t just a longshot, it was actually more feasible the more pathetic her performance in the war became. It was the exact opposite of what kind of mindset a proper magus should have. It was a slap to the face of her every ancestor to not fight fairly and honestly with the magecraft they had perfected. It even felt sickening to her pride—though not as sickening as the thought of Cabik Pentel’s manhood in her mouth. What an unpleasant thought to come back to her right when she was getting excited to fight and win.

            But she saw a chance at victory, and even if it was cowardly and dishonorable, it meant she’d get the grail, and not just any grail, but the Fuyuki Grail, the most powerful one in existence that could grant nearly any wish, and with it she could definitely save her mother.

            “Father, I really never expected such a heartless and objective analysis of me to be so reassuring,” Adolpha said. “Still, if you want me to avoid fighting Cabik, that may already be impossible.”

            “ _I have faith in your ability to defuse the situation_ ,” Kotomine answered coldly. “ _After all_ , _he is not bound by any contract to not harm you like the rest of us are to each other_. _He could slaughter you and neither the Association nor the Church would lift a finger in protest_. _None of us are duty_ - _bound to protect you from him_ , _either_. _And you stand no chance against him if he gets serious_.”

            “So what you’re saying is, I’m on my own and I’d better find a way to cool him down before he murders me?” she asked, all her lifted spirits dropping like lead to the bottom of the ocean where they had been lurking for hours already.

            “ _I would suggest you apologize with every ounce of your being_ _before he finds the perfect opportunity to snap you like a twig_. _And if that fails, stay close to Ruler_.”

            “Noted,” Adolpha muttered, rubbing her face with both hands and a sigh.

            “ _I hope you really are feeling better now_. _Right now, you are the king of our side of the chessboard_. _Though you are comparatively very weak compared to other pieces_ , _you are the lynchpin that is holding us together_. _If you are lost_ , _we will definitely fracture_ , _all pointing fingers at each other_. _Then we will be easily wiped out by Yggdmillenia._ _The last thing we need is for our king to get checkmated by one of our own bishops_.”

            “King, huh? Then who’s the queen piece?”

          “ _Hahahaha_.” Somehow, his modest laugh sounded almost sinister. “ _That remains to be seen_ , _don_ ’ _t you think_?”

            Adolpha thought about the analogy a little. “Don’t you think you should be a bishop, too, Supervisor?”

            “...”

            He did not answer the question.

 

            Adolpha stepped out of the limousine only after she had come up with a plan to try to make peace with Cabik. The fact that their Servants would arrive in about an hour and a half by her estimate was an immediate impetus to do so—if she did not, Cabik could order Rider to kill Berserker, which might cause Ruler to intervene somehow and if she did, it would not be pretty.

            She walked around the outside of the cathedral, thinking first to ask Sisigou for support. As misfortune would have it, Cabik was standing beside the mess Sisigou was making of the bloody corpses on the tarp, watching over the process of harvesting raw materials like hearts, fingers, teeth, eyes, and even some larger bones like the femurs with attentive interest. When Sisigou heard her walking through the grass, Cabik noticed next, and it seemed like both men were glaring at her. To be fair to Sisigou, with those sunglasses on it was hard to tell what he was thinking. Adolpha hoped his face was really just tightened in concentration on his task, and he was not directing some kind of enmity at her.

            “What do you want?” Cabik snapped, looking like he was about ready to cast some sort of murderous curse on her.

            “To talk. Is it too late for that?” Adolpha asked, throwing her arms out wide.

            “You threatened me in the car, you shot at me in the bathroom. I think we’re past talk,” Cabik said, taking his coat off and throwing his over his shoulder as he rolled up his sleeves intimidatingly.

            Adolpha almost felt like pointing out that she had not threatened him, per se, but rather specified very clearly that they were still allies until the Black faction was eradicated. But he probably wasn’t interested in listening to that kind of excuse or the fact that she had very deliberately not shot at him, only around him. So she kept that to herself, and just stood there and stared at him, giving him the silent treatment with open arms.

            “You’re just going to stand there and say nothing?” Cabik shouted. “Do you expect me to just forgive you?”

            “Hardly,” Adolpha said. It was time to abandon any hope of gaining the respect of the Masters. She was just going to tell him the truth, even if it meant swallowing her pride and turning her back on the predecessors of her lineage. “I’ve had a chance to clear my head. It has been a disastrous day for me, as you likely grasp, and I have been acting outrageously because of it. I realize now that I stand no chance against you—even if my Heracles can defeat your Achilles, you could attack and slaughter me while they were fighting and it would make no difference. The end result is that I lose. I foolishly lashed out at you because you were insulting me, but the fact of the matter is, I deserved to be insulted, right?”

            Every single word she said made her want to vomit, made her feel like she was ripping out her own fingernails and teeth one by one. Yet, Cabik’s brow furrowed, surprised and at a loss. If nothing else, at least she had him on his tiptoes.

            “I am aware of your family’s long-standing wish to acquire the catalyst of Heracles. It was improper and shameful of me to taunt you regarding that. When this war is over, I am more than willing to sell the catalyst to you for a fair sum. My family has grown destitute, and at the moment, money is more valuable to us than rare artifacts,” she said. That, however, was a bit of a lie. There were several hard benefits to serving a family as renowned as the Einzberns, and one of them was the ease of building a fortune. Her family was financially quite wealthy, she just had no access to any of her funds at the moment, as using her accounts could tip off the Einzberns to where she was.

            Cabik tilted his head at her, eyes narrowing. Every magus preferred to conduct business through financials and bartering instead of spilling blood. Even—no, especially a first rate bloody killer like him would gladly make a deal to get what he wanted rather than the alternative. You don’t rise to the top of the mercenary world by taking unnecessary risks.

            “What price would you ask?” Cabik asked.

            “Sixty million American dollars,” Adolpha said without a moment of consideration.

            He scoffed and shook his head, staring into the distance angrily. Sisigou looked up from his work, peering at Adolpha like she was crazy for a bit and then going back to what he was doing. Even for the catalyst of a powerful hero, that was an outrageous cost. The problem was that for the Pentels, getting their hands on that catalyst was a matter of pride. She was cruelly abusing his honor as a magus—only fair, since he had crushed hers.

            “You call that fair?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

            “You and your brother have become incredibly wealthy thanks to always taking double contracts. With your resources pooled together, a purchase like that would be entirely doable,” Adolpha said, bringing up some of the information she’d read from the dossiers of the Gum Brothers.

            “Just because it is possible does not mean it is a good deal. You’re out of your mind if you think I’d take a deal like that!”

            Of course. He and his brother could muster the funds to cover it, but it would require liquidating most of their hard assets like their lands and possessions and definitely clear out most of their accounts. They might even need to take a loan or two to afford it.

            “On the contrary. I believe that when I show you what Heracles can really do on the battlefield, you will see that it is not only a fair price, but a shockingly low one,” Adolpha said confidently. “Still, you can lower my asking price by five million every time you save my life in this war. Consider it an investment in a future working relationship.”

            Cabik froze, staring at her like she was insane. “So… after all of that, you’re hiring me to protect you.”

            Adolpha nodded. “Exactly. You only have to save my life twelve times, and I will give you the catalyst at no cost. Obviously, our contract cannot override your contract for this war. And I don’t have any vellum to write out the contract on, but…”  
            “I’m not the Silver Lizard,” Cabik said. “I can hold myself to a verbal contract and I don’t have to be told every single obvious requirement like that killing you or your Servant voids it.”

            Naturally, Adolpha knew that already. The Assocation dossiers focused largely on the reliability of each Master depending on the terms of their contract. The Gum Brothers were principled and dutiful, and obeyed the spirit of the deal more than most hired guns tended to. She wouldn’t have even bothered trying to make this kind of deal with him otherwise.

            “So. Do you accept the deal?”

            Cabik had to really think about it.

            “I would,” the necromancer interjected helpfully. “Shouldn’t take too long to save her twelve times.”

            “How do I know you’ll uphold your end of the deal? What if I fulfill all twelve rescues, and then you die?” Cabik asked, ignoring Sisigou.

            Adolpha sighed. This was where she got antsy. She didn’t have a good answer to the first question yet.

            “If you protect me twelve times, then I will tell you where and what the catalyst is, and you can just have it if I die,” Adolpha said.

            “Acceptable. But how do I know you won’t just break your word?” Cabik asked.

            “I may have acted childishly, but I have not violated any deals or oaths. I need your aid to survive this war, and I am certain you are one of the stronger Masters of the Red Team—probably of both teams combined. I have nothing to gain from betraying you,” Adolpha explained calmly. “Especially since it would mean making an enemy of you all over again.”

            The younger Gum Brother took a deep breath of acceptance. “Then there is no point in continuing this game any longer. Adolpha von Elfbern, consider me your ally until my contract with the Association has expired. Unless, of course, you plan on provoking me further. Then I cannot guarantee what I will do.” The bear of a man crossed his arms together.

            “The same goes for you,” Adolpha said. “I will not tolerate open insults. I am a magus. If you keep calling me a child or otherwise mocking me, I promise, you will not get that catalyst. I’ll destroy it.”

            Cabik frowned, but he seemed able to accept even that if it meant a chance at the catalyst of Heracles. “Fine. But I will still criticize you when you screw up.”

            “Then, since we are a team, I’ll do the same when you do,” Adolpha said, turning and walking away. She heard Cabik snort in derision at her and her bold claim, but she on the other hand could only smile to herself. She had no doubt that if she hadn’t held her own against him in that restroom, he would have refused the deal due to regarding her as no threat, someone he could easily take the catalyst from at any time through brute force. She was able to prove to him that she was not entirely helpless. She also had no doubt that he would break that impromptu deal in a heartbeat if Adolpha openly stood between him and the Holy Grail. Most importantly, now she did not have to worry about his reaction when he learned of her Servant’s identity anymore. That fuse had been ripped out of the dynamite before it was even lit.

            Suddenly, a blue-and-silver adorned blonde girl roughly her own age leaped out of one of the many holes in the cathedral walls, landing as lightly as a wren on the ground in front of her. Ruler looked up at Adolpha with eyes of alarm.

            “Miss Elfbern, alert your comrades. A Servant is approaching!”

            “What?” Adolpha asked, confused. “That’s a bit early for our Servants to be arriving.”

            “It’s not a Red Servant, nor a Black Servant!” Ruler said. “I checked the status and location of every single Servant on both teams! The Servant that is coming does not belong to either team!”

            Adolpha recognized that ability as one of the special privileges that only a Ruler could use, though it required some sort of strong medium like holy water to activate. Of course, in a cathedral, there was plenty of that.

            Adolpha cocked her head, jaw dropping a little. “What are you talking about? Is it another Ruler or something?”

            “No!” Ruler said. “That is impossible!”

            “So is the Grail summoning any more Servants,” Adolpha said. “Are you certain it is a Servant coming? Perhaps a leyline is shifting, or a stray spirit is passing through.”

            “My powers are not so easily fooled,” Ruler snapped, a little bit of anger rising through her tone.

            “Okay, okay. How far away is it?”

            “Three kilometers and closing rapidly from the northeast,” Ruler said. “You and your brothers-in-arms should hide. I will handle this and root out the cause of the anomaly, whatever it may be.” She materialized her holy flag, twirling it a few times and then stopping the hard steel pole in her other gauntlet with a loud clank.

            Adolpha obeyed as Ruler jumped up onto the roof of the cathedral to stand sentry, but not without reservations. It sounded too strange. What was going on?

            “Assassin!” Adolpha yelled, and one of the numerous doves that were circling above the holy building came down to land on her shoulder to hear what she had to say. “Assassin, something’s happening. I need to make a familiar for my own surveillance. May I make one out of this bird?”

            The dove did not fly off, so she took that as Assassin’s blessings.

            With the creature in hand, she ran over to the other Masters, who were surprised to see her back so soon. She told them exactly what Ruler had told her, and they had similar reactions of bafflement.

            “It must be some kind of trick from the Black Team. I’m sure there are Casters out there who could manufacture or falsify existences close to Servants,” Sisigou offered as he ripped a rib bone out of a body.

            “You should finish up,” Adolpha said.

            “Heh. What’s the dove for?”

            “Going to make a familiar.”

            “I see. Then, so am I,” Sisigou said, reaching out to one of the untouched dead bodies and muttering an incantation under his breath. As if he was raising the dead, the corpse’s eyes shot open despite having a hole in its heart. It was not the Dead, a pawn of a Dead Apostle, but merely a partially reanimated corpse that could be used for scoping an area through its senses.

            Adolpha had to envy him, as she knew of no spells for creating familiars that were so quick and efficient. Hers would take a few minutes and involved a short formalcraft ritual.

            “Now then, where should we hole up?” Kairi asked, ripping the head, the only useful part, off of the corpse.

 

            In the end, the Masters agreed that the church basement was the wisest choice. It was just a storage area, not some fancy crypt or anything like that, but it was sturdy-built and easily reinforced and concealed with a quick bounded field cast by Cabik. At any rate, they did not have to worry about being easily detected and targeted by whoever the coming Servant was.

            Adolpha’s familiar circled above the cathedral along with the rest of its flock. Though she could not simply command the doves to act as familiars like Semiramis could, and therefore it could be found out far more easily, her more conventional familiar was well-disguised thanks to the numbers surrounding it. Thanks to it being mobile, she also had the potential to cover much more ground than Kairi’s severed heads which he had strategically placed all around the building and the grounds outside of it to create something akin to a network of cameras. Cabik had not bothered with any familiar, muttering something like, “My method of crafting familiars is far too complicated and sophisticated to be done on a whim. I would require my workshop blah blah blah,” as that was the point that Adolpha stopped listening.

            Adolpha was the first one to spot the encroaching Servant. It was actually fascinating—Assassin was directing the entire flock to act naturally, sort of, and it just flew over the Servant and landed in the trees around it up close to easily scan it. She directed her familiar dove to follow suit. But what she saw told her little.

            The Servant jogging towards the cathedral through the forests was dressed in an armored loincloth, wearing shin-greaves and one giant sleeve of segmented steel armor on one arm and a much smaller bracer of armor on the other arm. He had a thick iron cuirass strapped onto his torso, and lastly he was wearing a helmet that obscured his head, brimmed, with a grill completely covering the face. It took her a moment to recognize the familiar-seeming armor set. But then it came to her.

            “A _murmillo_?” Adolpha asked, scratching her cheek in confusion.

            “Eh?” Sisigou asked. He must not have seen it yet.

            “You know, that kind of gladiator.” Murmillos were one of the most common variants of gladiators to appear in Roman arenas, so it was not like recognizing it as such was some kind of feat of trivia.

            “So, a gladiator from Rome, then,” Cabik said, clearly better versed in Roman history. “There are many possible Heroic Spirits with pasts as gladiators. Some of them could be fairly strong. A _murmillo_ would be a heavy infantry-type Servant. Most likely a Saber, since they primarily wielded swords.”

            “We’ve already seen Saber of Black. He’s more likely to be Berserker of Black,” Adolpha said.

            “It’s possible. But didn’t you say Ruler claimed this was no Servant of either team?”

            “His identity might be concealed somehow. The powers of a Ruler are not infallible,” Adolpha said. “Ah. He’s come into the parking lot.”

            The huge, bulky, heavy-armored Servant marched across the destroyed pavement, starting to chuckle under his breath as he looked up and saw Ruler standing on the bell tower high above and glaring down at him as she hung by a hand from a ledge.

            “Who are you?!” Ruler shouted down at him.

            “Hehhhehehe,” the gladiator chortled in his deep, rumbling tone that seemed to echo for miles around. “I who art about to die salute thee, _Editor_.”

            “Editor? What?” Kairi asked. His network of surveillance must have picked the strange Servant up by now.

            “It’s the Latin term for the one who owns and runs the amphitheater that the games are held in,” Cabik explained. “They enforced the laws and decided whether the defeated were spared or slaughtered.”

            “I am Ruler Jeanne d’Arc, administrator of the Great Holy Grail War,” Jeanne shouted down at him. “What business do you have here, Saber Spartacus?”  
            “What?” Adolpha gasped. He was a Saber? Ruler’s True Name Discernment must have been working correctly if it had seen right through this newcomer’s identity, but… this raised far too many questions. She checked this Servant’s status—indeed, his name was Spartacus and his class was Saber. All his parameters and personal skills filled themselves out, though not his Noble Phantasm, which only Ruler could see automatically. Although, oddly, something was missing from the pages of his status. Unlike the other Servants Adolpha had examined this way, this Saber did not seem to possess any class skills. But why?

            “Spartacus?!” Cabik exclaimed in a peculiar voice of shock.

            “Ah, I see my fame precedes me! I have been ordered to seek you out and slay you, _Editor_ ,” the giant warrior said. “It is my deepest regret to have been summoned into such a world, my strength put to so inexcusable a purpose, so low an objective as to murder a holy maid! Alas, in this form I am no free man, but a slave bound by laws. Excruciatingly, now I must face the opponent that my _Lanista_ has chosen for me!”

            “Lanista?” Kairi asked.

            Adolpha could have explained that it was the Latin term for the man who ran a gladiator school, training gladiators, arranging matches for them, and also enforcing discipline upon them. Though not all gladiators were slaves, the _lanista_ was the one who would whip the condemned slaves into obedience. But she was too distracted watching through the eyes of her familiar.

            “Who is your Master?!” Ruler yelled from above. “How were you summoned?!”

            “Heroine, noble Maid of Orleans, come and face me as an equal, and do not cower upon the high edifice of your temple!” Spartacus bellowed, outstretching both arms wide beside him like he was offering her an embrace. “Should you defeat me, I vow by my honor to tell you all that you seek to learn.”

            The moment he said so, Ruler leapt down from the high tower and landed hard on the asphalt of the parking lot, crunching underneath the impact. She glared at him and summoned her flag, holding the sharp tip at him in a guard stance. “Then I have no choice,” she growled. “Whatever anomaly you might be, I will root out the source.”

            Spartacus looked at her weapon of choice, her stare of fury, and threw back his head and laughed, slapping his armored breastplate with his fist like a gorilla.

            “What amuses you so, anomalous Saber?” Jeanne asked, clearly none too pleased to be mocked.

            “That which you have called forth for battle is no weapon! Hahahaha!” Spartacus cackled. “’Tis a standard! One carries it proudly within the ranks of one’s army and guards it with one’s life!”

            “It is the only weapon which I am afforded,” Ruler snapped. “And it is more than enough to defeat you soundly.”

            “Surely you jest?” the gladiator asked, no longer sounding quite so full of mirth. “I can think of no greater insult to the pride of an army than to dirty its banner with the blood and entrails of foemen!”

            Jeanne froze up for a moment, no doubt thinking of the men whom she had led into battle and what they might think, but recovered her composure quickly. “I no longer serve as the flagbearer of any army, and if God did not wish for me to wield this flag as a weapon, then it would not have been made with a sharp tip,” Jeanne said.

            Spartacus glared at her through the holes in his helmet. “I am appalled by your carelessness for the hearts of your fellow soldiers!”

            “I was never a soldier,” Jeanne retorted calmly.

            And with that, she shot forward like a silver bullet, thrusting her flagstaff tip-first straight into Spartacus’s helmet before he could react.

            Clang.

            The sheer force with which she struck sent the gladiator-hero stumbling backwards, nearly falling over.

            Thump-thump.

            The pieces of his helmet, now completely shattered into two separate hunks of warped steel, fell onto the torn up parking lot.

            Drip.

            Blood ran from his forehead, falling from his chin to splash on his meaty knee.

            “Hah, haha, hah hah hahahah!” Spartacus roared, reaching up wipe the blood away with the back of his hand as he straightened up. His face now revealed, it turned out that he was rather handsome, his lengthy blond hair tied into a ponytail and two large bangs hanging down, framing his chiseled face.

            Ruler glared at him severely, her eyes betraying the fact that she had been certain of that kill.

            She had underestimated just how incredibly tough this bastard was.

            Yes, any Servant with A+ rank Endurance was practically a fortress in terms of durability.

            But they were still, technically, human.

            Spartacus was beyond even that, thanks to one of his personal skills. Unyielding Will, it was called. At A rank, it provided a tremendous boost to one’s physical and mental defenses. In other words, through sheer will to survive and attain victory, Spartacus had hardened his body and his mind into steel. When you smashed your weapon into him, you could never be certain whether he’d come away from the clash wounded, or if it’d be your weapon that was damaged. As gladiators often wore little in the way of armor, it was only natural that a legendary gladiator like Spartacus would have trained his body to not require it at all. His helmet, his breastplate, his armored skirt, greaves, these were more just an extra layer of defense than his main protection like most Servants.

            Even so, for Ruler’s strike to have torn a gash in his forehead, even though it failed to pierce his skull, was clear proof that even a body of iron could not fully withstand a direct hit from a first-rate Servant. If not for his helmet blunting most of the hit, his head might have been crushed right then and there.

            Just as soon as Saber opened his mouth to speak, Ruler lashed out with her banner once more, this time aimed straight for his jaw, seeking to break it and leave him crippled. But———

            “Hah!”

            Spartacus, seeing the incoming thrust, opened his mouth and wrapped his teeth around the point of the flagpole, catching it in his mighty jaws and trapping her weapon there. Ruler immediately yanked her weapon out of his mouth, but he made it easier than she expected by simply letting her have it after a few tugs, causing her to lose her footing. Seizing this chance, Saber lunged forward with both arms outstretched, aiming to grapple her!

            “Got you!”

            Ruler scarcely managed to lift her flag up between herself and him, unable to evade or muster a defensive blow due to having to correct her footwork first, but Spartacus deftly reached over the bar and managed to wrap himself around her in a bear hug, pulling her in and tightening his hold so hard that the saint could only cry out in pain, being crushed against his massive, rippling muscles. As expected of a famous gladiator, he had mastered the art of wrestling, and had taken a perfect hold on her in a flash, utilizing his muscles of steel to completely trap and overwhelm her and now start to break her.

            “Aa-aack!” Ruler coughed and sputtered, unable to breathe at all with her torso being crushed both from the front and the rear simultaneously, denying her lungs the chance to gather even the slightest bit of air. If things continued like this, she would not just be beaten, but be totally killed when her ribs eventually snapped under Saber’s relentless squeezing.

            “Doesn’t she have a Noble Phantasm?!” Adolpha asked. “Why isn’t she using it?”

            “There must be a condition for activation that she can’t fulfill right now, or it wouldn’t be much help anyways,” Sisigou speculated. “Don’t panic, wait and see. I doubt she’ll go down this easily.”

            Almost as soon as he said so, Adolpha noticed the saint starting to shake oddly. At first she thought it might be some kind of seizure, but then realized that slowly, Saber’s grip was loosening, first an inch, then two, a space being created between her and him no matter how hard he squeezed around her. The flag which she had narrowly raised to guard herself was her salvation—by bracing it between the two of them, she had set up for the possibility of putting all her strength into that pole to pry his arms apart. And since their strength was in the same rank—even if his seemed to be higher—she was managing to actually break his hold!

            “Ho hoh, there’s some good grit in your face,” Spartacus said, laughing as his grasp on her weakened. Now able to breathe, Ruler gasped, taking in all the air she had been deprived of, and, maximizing the space she had won, pulled up her legs and planted her armored boots on Spartacus and pushed with absolutely everything she had until his grip slipped and she somersaulted free, flipping through the air and gracefully landing away from him.

            Where another Servant might have chosen to retreat, Ruler instead stood her ground and leveled her flag at Spartacus. Her armor had taken the brunt of the damage, now a bit dented from his brute strength, and she was not much worse for wear. Adolpha had to admire that unflinching courage.

            “Well done, well done…” the strange gladiator said, clapping. “Our audience must have been quite impressed by that!” As he said this, his gaze turned to lock straight on Adolpha’s familiar, and she chewed her thumbnail anxiously. So he had noticed it after all. She got overconfident and this is what happened.

            “Draw your blade, Saber,” Ruler said.

            “You had no issue attacking me without it,” he said, shaking his head. “I have no need of such a thing while I am fighting a young girl wielding a mere decoration! If I do not give you a handicap, then the crowds will say I am cruel and dishonorable. Though, I am pleased you were not bested so easily as by just one hold,” the Saber added, chuckling.

            “Why? Is it not your orders to kill me?”

            “Because no match is ever fun if it ends so quickly! There is no chance to create the tension that the people yearn to witness,” Spartacus explained.

            “Why are you treating this like some game?” Ruler asked, anger flashing through her expression. “This is not a gladiatorial arena!”

            “I am afraid I must disagree, _Editor_. The Holy Grail War is truly nothing more than gladiators fighting for the pleasure and will of their Masters. You are a rare and fortunate one to have no Master but the Grail itself!”

            “If you are indeed Spartacus, then you are far more than just a gladiator! You are a hero of the oppressed!” the saint protested. “Where is your pride as a rebel against tyranny?”

            “Pride?” Spartacus asked, cocking his head at her. “Are you mocking me, Maid of Orleans? Does my appearance, my attitude offend you? If so, then—”

            Saber’s powerful body tensed mid-sentence, and then he charged right at her, trying to catch her off-guard by interrupting their conversation with an attack.

            “—I must apologize!”

            He came at her like a freight train. She whipped her banner at him in a murderous stab for his throat as she backpedaled. He swerved around it, but she was faster, whipping her weapon around to slice him across the cheek and then leaping out of his reach before he could try to grab her again.

            “Hm,” Saber said, rubbing his fresh injury with his thumb.

            “Yes, I am offended,” Ruler said. “You dress in the armaments of your slavery, not the armor of a free warrior? Why have you turned your back on freedom?”

            His eyes narrowed at her. His good cheer seemed to have faded a bit. “It must be so easy for one such as you to insult me like that.”

            “What do you mean?”

            Spartacus jumped at her, smashing the asphalt into a crater underneath his meaty fist where she had been standing only an instant ago. She sailed over his head, somersaulting, thrusting downward with her flag with all her power and tearing her weapon right through the back of his breastplate, gouging deep in his solid muscles, a gush of blood pouring out of the wound. He whirled with a spinning backfist so fast that Ruler was astonished in the instant before it collided with her cheek, striking her with enough force to send her flying through the church’s sign. Her sheer momentum smashed right through the stone and caused her to tumble over the ground until she came to a stop, coughing as she rose to her feet, spitting out a bit of blood in her mouth. But her eyes still burned with life.

            Spartacus did not pursue her immediately, instead rolling his shoulder near the gouge in his back, testing his muscles. His arm was not at full strength anymore, which was why that blow had not done more to Ruler—had her instincts thus compelled her to strike where she did? Yet, his confidence had not dropped even a single bit. He tore his breastplate off, as it was dangling uselessly, tossing it aside. “Well-struck!” he yelled. “But your query is ridiculous. Of course I mean that you are unworthy to judge me, _Editor_! You, who never stained your hands with blood! You who died a virgin in every conceivable way! You are one who looks down upon my kind from your lofty throne and mocks us for the filth of our lives.”

            “I do not mock you!” Ruler shouted, glancing around to plan out her next attack.

            “You have been mocking me from the moment you drew that banner!” he replied, taking a stone in hand and hurling it at her with all his strength. The barbaric attack was easily repelled with a single swing of her standard, smashing the rock into tiny pebbles and dust. “Now you mock me even more by your insistence about my nature!”

            Ruler came at him before he had even finished his sentence, and he swung his fist to block the first overhead swing of her flag, then caught the next one on the armor of his sword arm, then retaliated with a swift kick aiming his greave at her hip. Ruler hopped over it, and, before he could plant his foot down, she swept his other foot out from under him with her pole and floored him, then stabbed downward with the full force of gravity behind it, a killing blow straight to his heart. He was too slow to stop it—the tip struck his breast and tore right into his flesh like a knife through butter.

            “Hurrrrgh!” Spartacus groaned in pain, red pouring from his chest.

            “It is over,” Ruler said. Knowing his Noble Phantasm and skills, she knew it was best to go for the kill as soon as possible and avoid prolonging the match. That was why she opted to go for the stab to his back, even if it meant she would take damage in the process, as it would gravely weaken him and accelerate the fight. This was the optimal path to victory that her Revelation skill foretold her of. “Now tell me who your Master is, quickly, before you fade from this world!”

            “Heh,” the Saber chuckled. “A clever move. I underestimated your craftiness, _Editor_. Very well. I shall tell you of my _Lanista_ ’s commands. The extent of the anomaly…”

            “Hurry!” Jeanne snapped.

            “My Master’s command was that I come here and kill you, and then, after…”

            “Afterwards, what?”

            His hands shot up and grabbed her flagpole, gripping it so tightly she couldn’t pull it away. Her eyes widened in alarm.

            “After, I will crush this war, and leave not one Servant alive! Hahahah!” Saber laughed demonically, yanking the flag out of his chest with ease and, without releasing his hold on her weapon, he rose to his feet, then whirled and swung it and her with every ounce of his power, smashing her into the wall of the cathedral, the masonry buckling. Before Ruler could do anything to stop it, he swung her back and slammed her into the stone again, and again, and again, brutally beating her entire body against the wall until she went right through it, filling the air with a cloud of dust. In the havoc, his grip on the flag slipped, and suddenly there was another stab wound on his chiseled abs, then another, and another, but they were all shallow, weak.

            Spartacus just laughed as he waded into the blinding dust, feeling the stings of attack after attack levied upon his bulk from directions he could not see, and not caring one single bit. He wound up a swing, and threw his fist out and struck hard steel with enough force to send Ruler flying into the next room with a yelp of pain.

            Staggered, Ruler coughed up blood from her gut—she was bleeding internally now, not just in her mouth. Her legs shook uncontrollably underneath her, unable to stabilize her stance, barely able to position her flag between her and the rampaging Saber. Every single stab she had thrown at him had been intended as a felling blow, yet her attacks that had torn through him earlier with the exact same amount of power were harming him less and less each time. She jumped backwards, but her awareness had grown dull, and she accidentally bumped over a pew of the chapel that she had no idea was even there, losing her balance and flopping over it, rolling painfully back to a kneeling position, starting to heave up another mouthful of crimson fluid that spilled over the once-beautiful tiles of the church and her gauntlets, staining the silver steel red.

            Of course she knew why her attacks were failing. It was an effect of his Noble Phantasm, Crying Warmonger. The more attacks of a certain _type_ he survived, the greater his resistance to that type would grow. She knew that full well, which was exactly why she had chosen to try to kill him immediately. But though she could read his Noble Phantasm in a glance, the information was only broad and general. She was not told the exact values nor the rate at which this resistance would build—and so she had underestimated it. By the time she went for the heart-stab, it was already too late to penetrate deep enough to harm that organ or his spiritual core.

            She was not a girl who cursed, but if she was, she would have done so now. Spartacus came lumbering into the chapel through the hole in the wall, laughing boisterously as he slowly walked towards her. The wound she had inflicted on his forehead at the start of their battle had already healed completely. That was thanks to Honor of the Battered, a skill that granted him rapid regeneration along with various other benefits when wounded. It was just one more way that Saber was on the edge of _absolutely invincible_.

            “A valiant effort, indeed!” Spartacus said, throwing the pew between the two of them out of the way with effortless strength. “But the harder you press me, the more glorious my comeback becomes!”

            Ruler managed to struggle to her feet, stepping back to put space between them. She threw out a hand towards him and shouted, “By the power of the command spell, I order you to cease!”

            Saber halted where he stood, snarling a little. “You… _Editor_ , you would resort to such underhanded tricks?”

            The blonde Servant glared at him, catching her breath and jumping across the entire chapel to the sanctuary. The reason she put that much space between them was simple. The command spell did nothing and it was not even expended because Saber was not a Servant summoned by the Fuyuki Greater Grail. Saber only stopped out of surprise alone.

            Spartacus stared at her, no joviality to be seen in his face. Instead, it turned to pure hostility. “As I thought, you are just like every other _Editor_ I’ve ever met. Just like the _Senators_ and the _Praetors_. You care not for honor beyond the merest appearances, and you do as you please, only afterward justifying it through lies and trickery.”

            Trying to think of a way to survive and analyzing the battle so far, the saint realized something about this Servant standing before her. The entire fight, he had been saying something or another—just like a gladiator hyping the crowds. He had been engaging her in conversations as though such a thing were perfectly ordinary in the middle of a deathmatch, and she had barely even noticed herself participating, drawn along his rhythm. Was this the proof of his power as an entertainer and commander? No… either way, she was in deep shit. If she could just buy a little more time by encouraging him to speak———!

            “It is my duty to administrate this Grail War!” Jeanne shouted, listening to the voice in her heart warning her of the danger that this Servant represented now that she understood what he really was. It had nothing to do with his own power, which was quite impressive. She had realized the possibility that even more Servants besides him could be joining the War somehow, ones she had no power over. It was an absolute nightmare. “You do not belong here! I do not know who or what summoned you, but I will not permit you to interfere any longer! Your presence endangers the innocent and risks great calamity! Tell me right now, who is your Master? How were you summoned?!”

            “For the sake of the innocent, hmm,” Spartacus murmured, slowly walking closer to the sanctuary before stopping. “Alas, coming from one such as you, those words ring hollow.”

            “What?”

             “You called me a hero of the oppressed. Was that something you admired about me? Is it what you wish to think of yourself as, _Editor_?” Saber asked, strolling over to scoop up a hunk of marble that had been ripped out of one of the pillars holding up the roof by some previous battle, tossing it at her with enough power to smash her head in. She deflected the boulder with a full strength strike from her flag, but the exertion sent her into spasms of agony, and she stumbled, barely catching herself on the altar, so exhausted and hurt that she could no longer hold up her flagstaff, and the tip rattled on the ground, her flawless discipline as the standard-bearer finally besmirched as the banner touched the dirty floor.

            Jeanne tried to lift herself up against the altar, panting, coughing more blood into her sleeve before she could answer him. “I do not think of myself as, hck, anything of the sort…”

            Spartacus shook his head at her. “Liar! You joined the war of your country because of the suffering of your people, did you not?” he asked, pointing a finger at her accusingly.

            “I did, but… truly, I have never considered myself a hero,” Jeanne managed to say despite the crippling agony in her chest. “I only did what I thought was right… that which would answer God’s weeping for the fate of my countrymen.”

            “Sophistry! You, like all your serpentine ilk, deal in nothing but sophistry!” Spartacus said, picking up a small rock and throwing it half-heartedly at Ruler. The rock bounced off of her gauntlet, denting the metal. “Who did you liberate from the oppression of the invaders, Maid of Orleans?”

            “The village and cityfolk!” Jeanne shouted, becoming incensed by his attitude. This was bad. Though she was usually so calm and controlled, something about his words was riling her up. It could only be his Incitement skill at work, his uncanny talent at directly attacking the hearts and minds of others through speech. She forced herself to breathe deeply and relax. She could not get wound up. She had to focus on recovering her stamina and buying time.

            “Wrong!” Spartacus bellowed, throwing a pew at her next. But it sailed harmlessly over her head, shattering on the wall behind. It was not even meant to hurt her in the first place, only make her flinch. And it worked.

            “Wrong?!” she repeated, becoming truly angry now. Though it was childish, this sly man said it with the perfect intonation to make her despise him.

            “Those people you claim to have liberated—were they not forced to give up their food, clothes, wives and daughters to the invaders?” Spartacus asked.

            The answer was obviously yes. In those days, that was the price that the inhabitants of a land had to pay to a foreign army. She did not even bother confirming it. He just scoffed and continued to speak his point.

            “Then, where do you think the armies you led found those things? Food, shelter, and women?” the proud man asked her.

            And then Jeanne wanted to vomit out all her blood.

            “They—”

            “They took them from the only place they could, the same oppressed masses that the invaders stole it all from!” Spartacus roared, fingers clawing as his voice rose in a crescendo.

            It was the one thing she did not wish to hear. The truth.

            “Silence!” Jeanne screamed.

            “Oh, but you never had to see it yourself, did you? No, your men were always so careful not to show what they did behind closed doors. But even the marshal who was your most trusted commander fell into that sort of depravity! No, a worse one, violating and slaughtering children for sport alone! And his name was Bluebeard!”

            “I said, silence thy tongue, knave!” the saint shrieked, lifting her flag and aiming the sharp tip at him. She was shaking with barely restrained fury. It was strange. Of course she knew that the armies following her were only human, and hardly different from the English who had performed many atrocities on the French common folk. But such a thing… such a thing was chilling deep to her bones. Surely the armies following her had committed crimes outside of her knowledge, but... how many? She had never thought about it too hard, as she had strictly forbidden such things, and assumed great faith in her loyal soldiers. Yet, God’s voice resounded in her heart, and Jeanne felt a deep, cruel revulsion. If her most trusted general, Gilles de Rais, had fallen to such lows, then what of the rank-and-file troops who numbered in the thousands and could not all have been watched? She felt deep sorrow, grim acceptance that she could not change the nature of humanity. But more than that, she felt pure, unadulterated wrath. And the worst part was, she was not sure who she should direct her anger at. Saber? The men who followed her? Humanity? Herself?

            “Yes! That’s the face you should make!” Spartacus laughed when he saw her expression contort. “Hahahah! You must be able to imagine the faces of the miserable peasants you liberated, how they showed you such joy and gratitude, and how those faces twisted into wretched despair, agonized betrayal when your men did what they did to them!”

            For, indeed, that was the very same face she wore, on the verge of tears. She could imagine that feeling all too well as a common girl herself who had witnessed the homeless refugees wandering through her village, broken people carrying infants dead of starvation because they themselves were too starved to notice that their baby had become silent.

            “Shut up!” Jeanne yelled, forgetting her own wounds and throwing away any chance at survival. There was one way she could defeat him still—change the type of attack she used to one he had built no resistance to. She launched herself at him—he did not move at all to defend himself even though it was too obvious, even though he had provoked this exact reaction from her deliberately—and struck him across the face with the blunt of her flag so hard that his head whipped around, damn near broken from one solid hit. A Servant with any less durability would have had their skull caved in. But…

            Spartacus just chuckled and straightened back out, grunting as he forced her banner back with just the strength of his neck. As Ruler’s legs gave out from the exertion of her last-ditch attack, he grabbed her by the shoulders and held her up in front of him so that he could speak directly to her miserable face. Her flag dropped from her hand, clattering to the red carpet of the aisle. She could no longer stomach carrying such a tainted thing.

             “Before, you asked me about my pride as a rebel. What pride should I have as a rebel? I am no madman with an unending thirst to overthrow tyrants. My pride was always to protect my brothers in the ring, and if I could not, then to avenge them. When I realized we would all die as slaves, I went to my closest friends Crixus, Gannicus, Castus, and Oenomaus, and we plotted our escape. That day is the day that I am most proud of. We seized our freedom, shattered our chains, and freed our brethren, and 70 of us fled the _ludus_ , hand-in-hand, step-by-step. Wearing the very armor and wielding the very arms that they had lashed us to kill each other with, we defeated all the oppressors that stood in our way. This armor I wear, it is not the symbol of my slavery. It is the symbol of my freedom! My greatest pride and the greatest joy I ever felt!” Spartacus roared grandiosely.

            Jeanne, dizzy, could no longer muster the strength to show him the face of fury. Her limbs would not move, and any attempt to do so was met with unbearable agony. All the anger had faded to pure depression, acceptance. She had lost not because her wounds were too severe or because Saber was too strong, only because she had already given up. She stared up at Spartacus, meeting his eyes with her own, showing him a blank stare as blood ran down from the corners of her lips.

            “Can you even hear me, _Editor_? I suppose your wounds have worsened. How disappointing!”

            Spartacus raised his fist, and Ruler stared passively at it as it hung in the air like a hammer set to strike and bash out her brains.

            “You know why you lost, _Editor_? You hit like a girl.”

 

            “Berserker! By the power of this command spell, I summon thee!”

            Eight feet and seven hundred pounds of grey muscle materialized along with a murderous, incoherent roar. The giant amongst men kicked straight off of the ground without needing a single moment to adjust after a spatial transportation phenomenon had brought him across space and time to the side of his Master. Operating purely on instinct, he sensed the danger his Master had summoned him for and attacked it without hesitation.

            “Oh?” Spartacus asked, turning in curiosity just as Berserker’s axe-sword swung down in a fell arc for his throat.

            Clang.

            The rock edge was stopped by hard steel, the lone sleeve of armor protecting Saber’s sword arm, his manica, raised just in time. But that was nowhere near enough to truly stop the power of Berserker’s swing, and Spartacus was launched straight through the altar and the wall, smashing into the women’s rectory. Perhaps not finished with her yet, he tossed Ruler away just before impact, and she fell into a pew, slumping down in that half-broken wood and just staring at the fight that took place without her.

            Adolpha raced straight over to the saint as Berserker charged into the hole, chasing to end Saber before he could gather his wits. But Spartacus was not even slightly stunned by being sent flying; he hopped up onto his feet with an amused chortle, manifesting a huge gladius in one hand and an even bigger scutum in the other, the signature weapons of the _murmillo_. Sword and shield at the ready, he met Berserker’s frenzied assault with an excited laugh as the grey giant crashed into him and forced them both through the hole in the wall. She heard the clashing of weapons dozens of times in just a few seconds, both Servants fighting all-out from the get-go at a speed far surpassing humanity, tearing up the walls and rooms that they casually walked and jumped through with their giant bulk.

            But Adolpha did not have time to worry about that. She only climbed up out of the basement cellar so that she could rescue Jeanne, and she intended to succeed. Immediately grabbing Jeanne’s wrist, she used the fastest medical analysis spell she knew of. There was no time for a comprehensive check-up; she needed to know where the worst of the damage was so that she could take steps to remedy it immediately. Similar to a structural analysis spell, albeit much more attuned to the functions of the body like heartbeat, nervous signals, blood flow, and magic circuits, an image of the scan the spell was performing appeared in her mind, highlighting areas of abnormalities with red glows.

            There were several bleeds in Ruler’s vital organs, liver, one lung, stomach, and one kidney, though thankfully not one in her heart that might endanger her spiritual core. Her ribs showed numerous cracks, and her muscles and tendons were torn in much of her right leg and right arm. It was possible for a Servant to bleed to death, as their blood had to be replenished via the expenditure of mana or else their body would fail (and that would destroy their spiritual core). So, without even thinking about what it would cost her, Adolpha chanted the incantation of the most powerful healing spell her magic crest had available. It was named Great Restorative Weave, designed to automatically seek out damage and literally knit veins, arteries, skin, muscles, bones, and the membranes of organs back together en masse. It was an incredibly high rank spell that bordered on high thaumaturgy, one of the many incidental products of the Elfbern research across generations.

            She couldn’t help but smile. For once, Adolpha had the opportunity to show off some magecraft that even many first-rates would be envious of.

            “God of Medicine, hear my prayer!”

            Thanks to High Speed Incantation, though it cost her more mana to use it, she cleared the whole chant for the spell in just a few seconds and poured what felt like a gallon of purest mana out to actualize the effect. She felt her circuits crackle with power, and then, still observing Ruler’s health, she witnessed the various colored glows denoting injuries fade rapidly as threads of magical energy knit the damage inside of her back together, organ by organ, vein by vein. This spell had been developed specifically to keep dying homunculi alive for retrieval and debriefing by the terminal, who were notoriously fragile and who basically fell apart piece by piece in minutes, so for anyone else it would be almost overkill.

            The Servant’s image of constitution repaired in moments back to a stable status, and, as the spell would finish on its own, Adolpha released Ruler’s wrist as the saint slowly turned her head and blinked at the brunette, saying nothing. Adolpha pulled out a handkerchief that Gene Rum had given her and wiped the blood off of the blonde girl’s chin, though some of it had dried on her beautiful skin and would need to be washed off with water.

            “Ruler, are you alright?” Adolpha asked.

            “I… thank you for aiding me,” Ruler said, but her eyes dropped to the floor, crestfallen.

            “Ruler, I can only repair the physical damage. Whatever he did to your head with what he said to you, you have to snap out of it!”

            “Yes, I know,” she said with a slow, heavy nod. “I have not abandoned my duties as administrator. But I fear I may not be able to defeat that man. Every time I look at him or think about him, I can only think of the sins of the soldiers who followed my banner. It… is difficult to clear my mind.”

            Adolpha heard Berserker roar from several rooms away, followed by a deep ‘oof’ from Saber.

            “Alright,” Adolpha said, taking the maiden at her word. She was not nearly foolish enough to think she could cure a mental attack from Spartacus in just a few moments of discussion. “Then come on, we’re gonna run away from him.” She wanted to keep Berserker from fighting for too long because it would drain her mana reserves, especially since Spartacus was a hero who only became stronger and stronger the more he fought and the greater the challenge became. He was one of the worst thinkable matchups for Berserker as long as Adolpha was his Master. “Can you move?”

            “I think so,” Ruler said, rising to her feet with a bit of effort. The spell would be healing her for quite some time and even then it might not repair all the damage, but as long as she didn’t get hurt again or overexert herself, she would probably be fine. Since she was a Servant, the rest of the healing would take care of itself as long as she had mana, and as Ruler, she had no risk of ever running out of mana due to it being supplied directly by the grail.

            Adolpha turned to lead Ruler out of the cathedral, but heard the girl collapse to the floor after her first step. “Your right leg is still as good as broken, huh,” the Master murmured. She knelt down and wrapped Ruler’s arm around her shoulders, bracing together with the saint and rising up.

            “S-sorry,” Jeanne muttered, spitting out a bit more blood. She really must have been in worse condition than even the scan spell indicated. Adolpha found herself glad she hadn’t hesitated for a second in treating her. “I know I’m heavy.”

            “Not really,” Adolpha said completely honestly, carrying her in a half-trot down the aisle and towards the vestibule. She couldn’t risk taking Ruler downstairs, as Cabik’s bounded field almost certainly would be insufficient to hide the presence of a Servant down there from another Servant. A proper long-term one that melded all the mana flows within it with the current of a leyline could do it, but those took weeks to prepare and needed the right geographical placement. So her only option was to get Ruler out of there. She didn’t like the idea of involving the church driver in a battle, but she had no choice at this point.

            Berserker’s roars suddenly became much louder as she heard more of the cathedral’s masonry get smashed apart, and saw her Servant soar over her head and catch himself on the ground, then leap back overhead at Saber. Adolpha spun around with Ruler to examine the situation———

            Berserker smashed his axe-sword into Saber’s shield so hard that the shield was knocked wide, forcing an opening in his guard. Saber laughed and stabbed at Berserker’s gut, but Berserker moved as if he saw it coming with his instincts before it even happened, weaving with impossible agility around Saber’s stab and slamming a knee into Saber’s chin. Saber stumbled back, stunned from the sheer force, and, finally wide open, Berserker brought down his stone blade in a diagonal cleave from Saber’s collar to his hip. Red spurted out through the immense gash as Saber groaned in pain. If his wounds from Ruler’s fight had not already healed, and he hadn’t already built up a resistance to slashes from that weapon from grazes he’d taken, that surely would have finished him.

            But Spartacus would not be so easily felled!

            Berserker wound up for a second slash to end it, but Saber burst forward with immense new power and tackled Berserker to the ground, pinning his arms under his weight and swinging the pommel of his gladius down to smash Berserker’s face, breaking his nose with an echoing crack. Before Berserker could wrestle Saber off, he followed up with a punch using the rim of his shield, smashing Berserker’s head through the hard marble tile. Spartacus began to beat on Berserker brutally and mercilessly, laughing like a monster as blood shot up with every blow.

            Adolpha could feel the excruciating pain he was feeling radiating through her spiritual link to her Servant. She gasped, and a strange sort of resolve took hold of her heart. “Berserker! Don’t lose!” she screamed.

            Heracles managed to get his arms free from under Spartacus and caught both his arms on their next swing downward like they were weak reeds to him, roaring directly into the rebel’s face. Spartacus laughed with what seemed like a bit of nervousness right before Berserker bucked his weight off and, as Spartacus was in the air, slammed both feet right into his chest in a deadly donkey kick, smashing his body of steel with so much brute strength that his already gouged ribs shattered in a dozen places, sickeningly crunching, and he hurtled straight through the roof of the building and high into the air. Without taking a single second to recover or rest, Berserker flipped onto his feet and grabbed his axe-sword, kicking off of the ground so hard the floor broke and the shockwave of wind nearly bowled Adolpha and the saint over, flying straight up after Saber.

            “Berserker… is strong,” Ruler panted with no small amount of awe at what she had just seen. Adolpha nodded in whole-hearted agreement, plain astonished by his performance even under a weak Master like her. Even though Berserker’s Noble Phantasm was inaccessible due to a lack of magic energy, even though all his skill was sealed and his mind was burdened by the full weight of insanity, he was matching—no, beating a Saber with a very strong Noble Phantasm that boosted his fighting power immensely. This was the first time she got to see her Servant going all-out against someone, and she could not deny the absolute _thrill_ running up her spine at what she had witnessed. Her cherished pride which had taken a dozen hits that day swelled back up in seconds and grew greater still. That was _her_ Servant.

            Then, she heard the echoing laughter from above, felt the pain flowing through her link to Berserker, and heard the crash that came from behind them. She spun around with Ruler. Berserker had been knocked back down through the roof, and only a split second later, Saber rocketed down at terminal velocity, smashing into Berserker with his feet. The crater formed beneath them was massive, and Berserker fell limp.

            No.

            What?

            Why?

            Berserker had him on the ropes! Saber couldn’t have survived even a slight bit more damage! How did he————

            Then she noticed that the gash that had been torn into Saber was gone, and his chest was no longer deformed from broken bones. His regeneration shouldn’t have been nearly fast enough to recover from that nearly fatal wound so rapidly.

            And it dawned on her.

            Of course. Only an idiot wouldn’t think of doing that.

            His Master had cast a healing spell on him. Perhaps multiple ones. And they must have been at least close to the level of Great Restorative Weave. But combined with his regeneration, that could have almost instantly restored him to functionality as a fighter, though she thought Saber might still remain quite damaged under the surface.

            “ _Verdammt_!” Adolpha yelled, immediately trying to back away as Saber beat on Berserker’s sturdy body all over. Their escape route was cut off. She had confidence Berserker would find his way out of that pin just like before, but he was taking a lot of hits. A grappler like Spartacus was a real problem for anyone who got too close. If Heracles was sane and possessed his legendary wrestling skills, there was no doubt that he could bend Spartacus into a pretzel, but…

            “Use your healing spell, on Berserker,” Ruler said between coughs into her sleeve as Adolpha unceremoniously dragged her away from the battling Servants. “He’s… hck… more hurt than you realize…”

            “What do you mea—” Adolpha began, only then to see the seeping gash on her Servant’s belly. As her eyes slowly registered several other wounds that blended into Berserker’s grey flesh, she was already chanting out Great Restorative Weave. With all the mana she had expended, and the mana Berserker had drawn from her, could she possibly cast it again?

            There was no choice but to do it, even if it strained her magic circuits. There was no time to analyze him and narrow the scope of the spell for extra power on his worst injuries either, she just had to do it and pray it would be enough.

            “God of Medicine, hear my prayer!” she shouted, mana jolting through her circuits that glowed bright blue under her skin. It was slim, but she had just enough energy to cast the spell and leave some left over to supply him just a bit more. By casting the spell through her pass with Berserker, she could heal him without even needing to be within a hundred kilometers of him, though it would be faster to set in the closer she was. At this range, the manaweave dug into his injuries and began sewing them up instantly, and Berserker roared with renewed strength, headbutting Saber with enough force to propel him straight into the wall. Both fighters rose back to their feet, staring each other down in a moment of immense tension. For even a mindless beast like Berserker to hesitate to continue the match could only speak to the threat Saber posed.

            Then, Saber shattered that tension with another one of his jolly laughs. “Hahahaha! For a mindless Berserker, you are a worthy opponent! ‘Tis a shame we cannot trade jabs and jests as we slay each other. Yet, the greater shame is that your _Lanista_ is so weak that she cannot provide you with the power you need to defeat me!”

            Adolpha stiffened. What did he mean by that? She wasn’t even dry yet. No, wait, was Berserker operating at a reduced capacity to try and spare her? Hold on, was that why he had stopped charging at Saber endlessly and why Saber had managed to turn the tables in the sky? Had Saber picked up on that this quickly?

            “Don’t, panic,” Ruler groaned, her beautiful blonde hair hanging over her eyes. “There’s a way to beat him. Listen—command Berserker to alternate the kind of attacks he’s using on Saber. Switch between slashes with the edge and bashes with the blunt of the weapon. That’s, hck, how you circumvent Saber’s Noble Phantasm.”

            Adolpha gulped. She hadn’t even thought about that, but it made sense with what she could tell about Spartacus’s Noble Phantasm. She had no choice but to trust Ruler, who had the full details of that Noble Phantasm further enhanced by personal experience dealing with it.

            “Berserker! Alternate between sharp attacks and blunt attacks!” Adolpha shouted, but she had no way of knowing if he could understand an order that complex. Before Berserker could demonstrate either way, Spartacus came charging straight for her, extending his sword to run her through. “Wha—!”

            The grey giant loosed a dull roar and intercepted Saber before he could reach her, smashing him into a stone pillar and swinging his axe-sword at Saber over and over again to try and smash through his guard. But with a shield and sword, a warrior that had surpassed humanity like Saber was able to stand firm against even a rush of that kind of strength and speed, especially since Berserker was _slowing down_.

             “Sorry, Berserker!” Spartacus cackled, suddenly shoving the madman back with a well-timed shield bash to his torso. “I dislike killing youths, but if they are my enemy, I will not hesitate!”

            The insane hero’s only reply was leaping straight back at Spartacus and, using the flat of his axe-sword, smashing Spartacus right through the pillar like a big, one-handed tennis stroke.

            “He’s not lying,” Ruler panted as Adolpha turned and tried to run away with her as fast as possible. “He’s creative and strategic-minded, and you’re the weak heel here. Don’t underestimate his cleverness! And don’t count on Berserker to protect you when he’s running on fumes! Saber recovers a lot of magical energy and physical stamina every time he gets hurt! He could fight forever so long as his opponents have poor attack power!”

            “Got any more advice?” Adolpha asked. This information was vital, and she wished she was like Ruler and could just see it automatically. It would have changed her approach considerably. 

            “There’s more… no, wait, something’s wrong… why didn’t Berserker’s barehanded blows become weaker as he built resistance?” Ruler mumbled, coughing violently. It seemed now was not the time to pump her for intel. The saint gestured at the discarded flag on the ground, and Adolpha hurried up over to it so that Ruler could arm herself again. “Quickly, turn!” Jeanne yelled, and the brunette obeyed at full speed, practically lifting and swinging the Maid of Orleans around, and just in time for her to swing the flag up and stop a slash from Saber that was aimed for Adolpha.

            “Back on your feet so soon, _Editor_? When one is beaten, they should kneel and present their neck proudly, and not flinch when their head is taken!” Spartacus bellowed, pulling his gladius back and swinging again, this time knocking her to one knee. Her right leg still wasn’t healed, and just that impact no doubt worsened the muscle damage in it and her right arm as well.

            Berserker flew at Saber like a bat out of Hell, bringing down his stone sword in a murderous arc at his unprotected back, but———

            Saber grinned like a madman, and Adolpha knew instantly that it was his plan all along to bait Berserker into this situation of overextending himself and ignoring his instincts of danger to protect his Master.

            “Not so fast! Crying Warmonger!”

            Time stopped.

            Spartacus began to glow with an intense, pale light. No, not light. Pure magical energy. His Noble Phantasm had been activated at full strength.

            Adolpha had no idea what it did, but the instant Berserker’s blade collided with Saber, everything exploded pure white.

            Saber was completely untouched by the direct hit that should have bisected him. Berserker had alternated attack types, so shouldn’t his resistances have reset?

            But that was an assumption that he _had to_ start building resistance to a different attack type. Adolpha could not have possibly understood, but Ruler did, and she saw where she had erred. Because she foolishly tried to kill Spartacus with that blunt strike, he guessed that she figured out that weakpoint, and so had deliberately left small openings in his guard while in the women’s rectory where Jeanne and Adolpha could not see him taking so many grazing hits that regenerated almost instantly. He farmed up his own resistance to slashing type attacks, in turn allowing all the blunt attacks to be fully effective against him, in preparation for Ruler telling them to use that kind of strategy. It was a ridiculous, unthinkable sort of strategy that had nearly cost him his life due to Berserker’s brutal kick, and yet, somehow it paid off. It was the perfect come-from-behind victory.

            This was the ultimate effect of Crying Warmonger. When over 80% resistance to a type of attack had been reached, releasing the True Name would cause the next attack of that type to be automatically blocked and reflected along with all the damage of that type that Saber had endured since the start of the battle. It was a wide area of effect attack that grew larger the more damage had been taken, dealing equal damage to all caught in the glowing reflection field. There were only a few ways to survive such an overwhelming ability as all of your own attacks combined into one overpowered blast. The first was to not get caught in its radius or not trigger it in the first place. The second was to be tougher than Spartacus—laughable.

            Adolpha realized instinctually that she was going to die, and so were Berserker and Ruler. All of them were doomed.

            Something metal clanked into the floor beside her. It was the base of Ruler’s flagstaff. With no other option, she moved the instant Revelation warned her of their blunder, which was only just before Spartacus announced his Noble Phantasm. But would she be fast enough?

            The glowing wave of annihilating force began to pour right out of Saber at point-blank.

            She had to skip the prelude, and go straight to the True Name.

            “Luminosité Eternelle!”

            She shouted it at the top of her lungs, finishing only the slightest, most infinitesimal split of a second after Crying Warmonger activated.

            Two golden tidal waves of pure, almighty power crashed into each other, blinding and deafening everyone in the room all at once. Jeanne screamed with exertion as she stared into the explosion that threatened to slaughter both her and Adolpha, putting everything she had into her flag, and in answer, it held strong against the onslaught. The holy light that it shed did not budge an inch, and just as it steeled them against all harm, it also warmed their hearts, granting them both courage and peace. It was as if the hand of the Lord himself had reached down from Heaven to shield them.

            Adolpha dimly became aware that the light had stopped, but her eyes needed time to adjust back to the ordinary sunlight. Her ears, still ringing, also gradually recovered. She realized she was gasping for air, staring at the floor. She had been so certain she was dead. She glanced up.

            Spartacus stumbled backward, overwhelmed a bit by the power of the shield and the amount of magical energy he had emitted in that attack. “Damn, your instincts surprise me yet again with their accuracy and alacrity… but to think that your Noble Phantasm was such a fortress-like thing,” he grumbled on one knee at Ruler, who shakily stood up straight as she glared at him. “What a waste of a good comeback. Truly, the audience must be disappointed.”

            “You mocked me for wielding this banner, and you nearly convinced me to leave it behind. But I’ve realized something. Even if my soldiers were monsters to their own people, it was necessary to end the war that made even God despair. The English could not have been beaten back otherwise.”

            She paused, formulating her thoughts, then continued. “You tried to claim that my cause was wrong because humans are imperfect.  However, you got it backwards. The cause was not wrong; it’s just that humans are imperfect. Yet, despite our imperfection, we all strive towards a cause that is better than us. I do not know how many crimes were committed in my name or the name of God. They are no longer for me to concern myself with, as my life ended long ago. I have faith in my armies. I have faith in humanity itself. You, Saber, do not seem to have faith in anything but your own strength and wits. Perhaps that is why your rebellion ultimately failed.”

            Had wielding that flag again once more awoken her resolve? Or did she just think through their discussion enough to arrive at this conclusion? Adolpha wondered about it as she listened and noted the pounding pain coming from Berserker. He had survived? It seemed almost unthinkable, and yet, there he was, a big grey mammoth man lying in a pile of rubble, covered in burns and slash wounds caused by the reflection. He must have managed to leap away from the epicenter of the blast and swing his axe around to block most of the damage with the flat of the stone. Even then, he probably only survived because his body was so incredibly tough and his Battle Continuation compelling him to make it through alive.

            Saber was covered in steam rising from his muscles, and all the wounds he had endured so far were now permanently carved into his flesh as jagged scars. He lifted his gaze and stared at Ruler with the gleaming eyes of an asura. “Heheh. So you found your spine, huh? Good. That will make this less distasteful.”

            Adolpha blanched when she realized that Saber was not as stunned as he looked, and worse, it seemed that unleashing the True Name caused almost all his wounds to heal immediately with the sheer outpouring of magical energy. Though his resistances had reset, he was still fresh and full of power. Though they narrowly managed to survive his ultimate attack, it was no use. He had still maneuvered himself into the winning position. She saw the grey giant twitch and start to heft the rubble off of himself, and considered shunting all the mana she had left into him for a last-ditch effort. But it would last a minute, tops. Saber was not the kind of hero you could take out in under a minute without the use of a strong offensive Noble Phantasm, and they had no such thing amongst them.

            Ruler aimed the point of her flag at him, but what good would it do? She was still hurt.

            Adolpha thought quickly. Saber might attack at any moment, and only seemed to be hesitating because of the strong front Ruler was putting up, trying to figure out whether she could use her flag again or not.

            What could she do?

            She glanced around the absolutely ruined chapel. The accumulated damage by now had made the whole thing structurally unsound, and it was only by God’s grace that the whole thing hadn’t caved in already. She looked at the ground. There were craters everywhere from Servant footfalls as well as gouges from weapons. Even the once beautiful red carpet lying in the aisle was covered in soot, thrown around and roughed up, covering only a jagged, twisted path now. She thought about her duel with Deimlet. Could such a thing really work?

            “Hold it,” Adolpha said, pointing at Saber. What was she doing? Even she wasn’t sure.

            “Hmm?” Saber grunted, glancing at her.

            “Miss Elfbern, be silent and stay close,” Ruler said. She must have been planning to activate her banner again the instant he tried attacking them. But that was an untenable strategy!

            “If you take even one more step towards us, I will defeat you,” Adolpha said with the straightest, most serious face she had ever worn. She hoped she looked as much like a monster as Saber himself did with all the steam pouring off him and that manic grin he wore.

            “Hahahahahaha! A brave bluff! I respect your gall, Master of Berserker,” Spartacus laughed.

            “Get ready, Cabik… if you don’t screw this up, this’ll count as one for the deal,” Adolpha said, crouching down as if into a sprinting ready stance, hand going to her gun. But that was merely a bit of distraction so that she could plant her hand on the carpet as she used just a tiny sliver of mana to reinforce her body’s muscles and bones to handle what she was about to do.

            Saber chuckled a bit. He took one step forward, slowly lowering his armored boot down as if to taunt her. And while he was on only one foot, she moved as fast as she had ever moved before. She had no way of knowing Saber’s weight for sure, but since he was a bit shorter and less bulky than Berserker, she was almost positive she could pull this off!

            Using every ounce of her boosted strength, she grabbed the carpet and yanked it as hard as she could———

            Ah. Although he was only on one foot, Saber calmly kept his balance and hopped off of the carpet and onto the marble tile the instant she pulled, and the entire long carpet flew up into the air uselessly from all that force. Saber let out a hearty chuckle of amusement at her ploy, which he must have seen through a mile away.

            Unfortunately, there was no way he could have seen through the floor just collapsing under him.

            Adolpha heard him thud into the basement, several boxes and barrels smashing under his weight. Immediately, there was a huge explosion, and a massive pillar of thick smoke rose from the hole in the floor, blinding Saber who did not appear to have any Clairvoyance ability.

            Ruler stared in surprise at Adolpha for a moment, then the girl grabbed the saint by the hand and ran around the hole in the floor for the vestibule. If they reached the limo, she was hopeful that the driver could escape Saber, since he was nothing special in terms of speed. 

            “These odd restraints, they are rather impressive… but nothing for one who has already broken his chains!” Saber laughed from the basement as Pentel and Sisigou came running up the stairs and joined the other two.

            “Ether Gum?” Adolpha asked, and Cabik nodded wordlessly as they ran full speed over the broken doors of the church and into the parking lot. Berserker, whom she had commanded to follow mentally, was not far behind. Kairi snapped his fingers, and every single head he had placed inside the cathedral for monitoring suddenly exploded like a satchel of C4, blasting the entire building and every room in it with a monumental series of booms that would have killed anything less than a Servant for sure. The crumbling architecture finally lost itself, and the roof, the walls, everything just fell down with an echoing rumble of rock against rock.

            They made it to the car, still hearing Saber’s laughter coming from the ruins and rubble, but he seemed to be fairly stuck in there with several tons of stone pinning him along with the Ether Gum bonds.

            “Can’t he just dematerialize and float out of there?” Adolpha asked, panting as she threw open the door of the limo and shoved Ruler in first.

            “I prepared that Ether Gum net I caught him in to be particularly effective against spirits specifically for this grail war, and while even a weak Servant can surely tear their way free, they cannot do so while intangible. It takes some longer than others to realize this,” Cabik explained as he climbed in next, then Kairi. Adolpha glanced up at Berserker, rubbing her chin. He definitely wouldn’t fit in the car, and he was too insane to be capable of making the decision to turn intangible, unfortunately.

            “Berserker, run back to the place you were with the other Servants and link up with them all,” Adolpha said.

            Berserker turned and bolted away at full speed without a moment’s hesitation. Adolpha finally gave him the last of her mana, which should be enough to sustain him on that trek. Then she got in and shut the door.

            “Where to?” the Church driver asked.

            “I don’t care, away from here!” Adolpha said. “We need to put ten kilometers between us and this place immediately. We might get pursued by an enemy who can keep up with the normal speed of an automobile!”

            “We’ll see if he can keep up with an abnormal speed, then,” the driver said, straightening his hat, throwing the car into first, and hitting the gas, the suped-up engine roaring like Berserker.

            “Ruler, try to suppress your presence as much as you can,” Adolpha said to the blonde maiden, who nodded. While without Presence Concealment a Servant could not hide themselves from detection, they could still avoid broadcasting their position even further than normal by not using much mana.

            “So that’s fifty-five million dollars, now,” Cabik said to the brunette.

            “That’s right,” Adolpha agreed with a nod. “Well done on the trap.”

            He snorted, not derisively at her, but more like, “Of course. I am a professional after all.” He stared out the window for a moment, then opened his mouth. “Berserker, hmm. I am impressed. That catalyst might well be worth the full sixty,” the young Gum Brother said with a sigh, crossing his arms together.

            “We’ll need to find a new location to meet with the other Servants of Red,” Kairi noted, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up.

            “I’ll notify the priest of what happened,” Adolpha said. “He might know of a good place.”

            “There are also some other things we need to figure out. Was that Saber working with the Black faction?” Kairi asked.

            “I doubt it,” Cabik said. “They could have sent their whole team after us and wiped us out if that was their intention, or just had Saber of Black do the job back on the highway. That Saber is… suspicious.”

            Adolpha did not really need to think about it. She had already figured out where that Saber came from. Though there were only a few hints about it, it was the only conclusion that fit all the facts, and the reason she was so certain of it was because she had thought up the idea herself last night before she slept as a back-up plan in case Berserker was defeated.

            That Saber had been summoned by the use of another grail, most likely the Siberian grail.

            But she kept that knowledge to herself.

            She was not sure whether she should tell Ruler or the others. She was especially wary of her two partners, because the only way that Saber could have found them was by a leak of information. The Black faction did not have any familiars following them or else Assassin would have taken them out with her doves. And since the rest of the Red faction was locked off from the world…

            The only possible perpetrators were sitting in the car with her.

 

Interlude 4B: Wretched Ancestor

 

            “Understood,” the swarthy Italian man said, ending the call on his cellphone and stuffing it back into his coat pocket. “Sorry about that interruption. I know you came a long way from Japan. It must feel nice to return to your homeland,” Deimlet Pentel said.

            “Hahaha. I always thought it to be a little too chilly here,” the old man, shriveled up and wrinkled almost like a big raisin, said in his wheel chair. Though he said such a thing, he was wearing nothing more than a few layers of Japanese silk robes and showed no signs of being uncomfortable, just running his hands over the small gnarled wooden cane he carried in his lap. He was being pushed by a young, blue-haired teenager who had wrapped up in full winter regalia, seeming to be constantly nervous and sweaty despite the freezing temperature outside the small private airport in Siberia.

            “So then. He already told you everything, correct? You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

            “Yes. He informed me of more than enough to secure my… cooperation in this matter,” the shadowy-eyed geezer said, smiling. “I never expected anyone to offer me the chance to reclaim my legacy. That Darnic fellow sure overplayed his hand.”

            “He’s small-fry,” Deimlet said with a shrug. “Of far greater concern is Ruler. If she catches wind of what’s going on, the both of us could be slaughtered by over a dozen Servants all united against us.”

            “Are there not other Masters coming to join this war effort by the Siberian grail?”

            “There are, but we’re the only ones who’ve been tasked with taking care of Ruler. The others have roles of their own to play. I trust someone like you, so instrumental in developing the Holy Grail, knows of a way?” Deimlet asked.

            The old prune laughed, and he set his cane on the tarmac and, shaking a little from the exertion, lifted himself up out of his wheelchair to stand at his full diminutive height. “Of course. Had I known of the Einzberns cheating by summoning a Ruler in the Third War, I might have been able to do something about it. But more importantly, I have prepared the perfect catalyst for the purpose of tearing down the Heroic Spirit who was summoned to serve as Ruler. Jeanne d’Arc? Hahaha. We shall test how true her faith is to her Lord.”

            Deimlet felt a chill rise up his spine at the joyous grin the old man wore. This man, one of the founders of the Holy Grail, was someone he did not dare trifle with. As far as he had known, the Makiri—no, now called the Matou after their move to Japan—were a dead end lineage whose blood had grown thin and produced a successor without any magic circuits, which meant they were doomed without fresh blood, and no one, not even their old friends the Tohsaka, was willing to risk sending a child with promise to learn from and continue the line of a man who had gone absolutely mad with despair when the Grail had been stolen by the Nazis.

            But the moment he heard that the Grail had been found, and that he had been offered an opportunity to take it back, this freakishly old bastard suddenly regained his senses as if they’d never left him in the first place, and now a terrifying fire burned in his ancient eyes.

            Matou Zouken—having to contend with this monster for the Holy Grail was a thought that made Deimlet shudder.

 

End of Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, long long chapter this time. I hope you all enjoyed it. Here's Saber Spartacus's status profile, by the way:
> 
> Saber Spartacus  
> Spirit: Spartacus the Thracian  
> Alignment: True Neutral  
> Strength: B  
> Endurance: A+  
> Agility: C  
> Mana: E  
> Luck: D  
> Noble Phantasm: A  
> Personal Skills:  
> Honor of the Battered A  
> Saber boasts a high rate of automatic regeneration, and healing magecraft cast on him costs only a fraction of its normal price in mana. However, the more pain he feels, the more he is able to focus his mind on the battle, and his reactions and skills also sharpen in response. Saber’s Luck parameter will also slowly increase the more damage he takes until it reaches A rank, returning to normal after the battle ends.
> 
> Unyielding Will A  
> Saber’s sheer willpower is effectively unbreakable to the extent that his body is as well, granting him greatly increased physical and mental resistance. He has a body and will of steel.
> 
> Military Tactics D+  
> Having achieved many astounding victories on the battlefield while leading nothing more than freed slaves and commoners, Saber specializes in unpredictable stratagems that beat the odds. However, he is only able to demonstrate his true genius when his back is to the wall. It was his failures as a commander when not in battle that ultimately cost him his army and his life, winding up in the worst possible scenario that not even his brilliance could lead his people out of.
> 
> Incitement B  
> Having inspired a great rebellion of not only slaves, but the downtrodden as well, Saber caused great upheaval by his words and deeds alone. At this rank, it is possible to wield this skill as a mental attack against individuals as well as crowds. When speaking to those who have been oppressed or mistreated, mutual understanding increases the effectiveness of the skill.
> 
> Noble Phantasm:  
> Crying Warmonger  
> Type: Anti-Unit (Self)  
> Rank: A  
> Range: 0  
> Maximum Number of Targets: 1 person  
> In this Class his Noble Phantasm can be called a more correct sublimation of his legend that does not turn him into a monster, but rather enhances his abilities as a warrior greatly. Every time Spartacus survives an attack, he gains some magical energy and stamina for free. Through use of this effect, Spartacus can overcharge himself and boost his strength, endurance and magical energy parameters beyond the normal limit temporarily. Furthermore, the more of a certain kind of attack he survives, the more resistant he becomes to it, eventually obtaining the ability to reflect the attack back on its attacker by declaring the True Name. It is simply his legend as “one who always won by reversal.”  
> 


End file.
